


Transcendance

by AllyKat8



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 6B, Banshee Lydia, Big Bad, F/M, Fear, Fluff, Friendship, Love, M/M, Margent, Mildlemons, Missions, Pack, Pack Dynamics, Pack feel, Scalia, Stalia, Stydia, War, anuk-ite, stilesbeingabadass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-02-07 08:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 40,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12836802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllyKat8/pseuds/AllyKat8
Summary: 'Those two; they're pretty good together. No super strength or samurai swords but they stay alive.' The pack have graduated from highschool but their troubles are far from over. New relationships and old ones will be tested as the pack fight for their lives against the Anuk-ite and the hunters.Basically how I wished 6b had been. Stydia centric but with the rest of the pack too.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> After a computer crash, complete loss of plot and motivation I've decided to call it the end with this fic. I'm just not really sure what I'm doing with it anymore. I am busy working on new things that hopefully will be up here soon but this is just the end. If anyone would like me to post a short chapter just letting you know how this all would have played out, just leave a comment. If not, please read my other Stydia works and I hope to see you in the future. Thankyou so much for all of the support and love this fic has received. 
> 
> ***
> 
>  
> 
> This fic has been buzzing around in my head since the first episode of 6B. There will be elements of the show in here, some conversations, the same big bad, but 90% of this is a reimagined version of 6B with more Stydia. Mostly from Lydia's point of view but will include others too. Enjoy x

 

It all started with a change in the air and a scent that Scott just couldn’t place. He inhaled deeply and noted the scent was slightly sour. Fear, maybe or anxiety? All Scott knew was that it had been lingering in Beacon Hills almost three days and now there was the dream.

He’d noticed a change in the woods of Beacon Hills too but hadn’t known what it meant until tonight. It had been too quiet but as he retracted his fangs and pushed himself to his feet he thought he heard the faint sound of frantic scurrying.

Scott’s eyes glowed scarlet as he scanned the tree line for any sign of danger but he saw nothing. Nothing was rare. There was always something; a deer, a rabbit, something.

The sound of Lydia breaking twigs underfoot cracked in Scott’s ears and he spun around to find her shivering in the darkness, clutching her cardigan around her shoulders.

“There’s nothing here, Scott. I told you it was just a dream,” she said tightly. She pressed her lips together to stop her teeth from chattering.

The air was still dry from the heat of the day but the sun had set over five hours ago and the night air was biting. They were both still in their pajamas.

“Come on. It'll be warmer in the car,” Scott appeased as her lips began to tinge purple.

Scott surveyed the trees once more before nodding to himself and walking back towards Lydia. They turned towards the path and fell into step with each other.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lydia asked hesitantly.

She was using the light from her phone to guide her through the darkness. She faltered as her foot hit a rock she hadn’t seen in the dirt.

Scott huffed and held out an arm to steady her.

“It came out of the Nemeton. Out of like a smoke. And I just had this feeling like it was sucking the life out of everything around it and I was…” he trailed off, fighting against the terror the nightmare instilled in him.

“You were what, Scott?” Lydia encouraged as they stepped out onto the track back to the car.

“I was dying, Lydia. It felt like I was dying.”

Lydia’s eyes widened and she fumbled around in her pocket for her car keys. The way Scott had spoken sent a chill down her spine.

They didn’t speak again until they had both bundled back into her car. She turned the heat up high and held her hands out in front of the fan.

“It felt so real, like I was really there,” Scott muttered almost to himself.

Lydia eyed him worriedly. She knew better than anyone that realistic dreams weren’t always just made of nonsense.

“Have you ever heard of lucid dreaming? That could explain why it felt so real,” she reasoned.

She desperately wanted to reassure him but she couldn’t deny that she’d had an itch in her throat that she couldn’t scratch for almost a week.

“That’s when you’re awake in the dream?”

Lydia found the ignition with her fingers in the dark and worked the key in. She waited for the engine to purr before pulling away from the woods.

“In a sense. It’s a dream where you’re fully conscious and able to make decisions. It usually happens during the REM stage of sleep when your brain is hyperactive and your body is paralyzed. It can make even the craziest dreams seem real.”

Scott looked over at Lydia skeptically although he hadn’t understood most of what she had said. Lydia joined the main road and yawned.

“Okay, run me through it again,” she said to Scott, eyes settled on the highway.

_Scott opened his eyes to find cold, hard earth beneath him. He pushed himself up onto his feet. He felt weak and the movement seemed to require more effort than usual. It was too dark to see but he knew he must be in the woods. ‘Maybe I’m sleep walking again,’ he thought to himself. He closed his eyes and attempted to shift them to Alpha red but when he opened them again the forest was still dark around him. Scott looked down at his hands and struggled to extend his claws but to no avail. Concluding that he must be dreaming, he dug around in his pocket for his phone. He turned on the torch and used the beam of light to familiarize himself with his surroundings._

_He had been right. He was in the woods on the preserve. Scott began to walk in the direction that he knew would take him to the road but he didn’t travel far before he found himself standing before something different entirely._

_The Nemeton, as it often did, seemed to materialize from the air before him. It was different than he had seen it before. The tree stump seemed almost larger than usual, which already seemed impossible, but it also seemed to be pulsating with emerald light. The last time Scott had heard of the Nemeton doing anything like this it had unleashed the Durack and the Oni on them._

_Scott could feel his breath beginning to quicken and without realizing what he was doing, he reached for his inhaler. Of course, he didn’t have one. His heart began to race and his breath was becoming more ragged by the second. He tried desperately to force more air into his lungs but it felt like he was being strangled. Before long, he felt his consciousness slipping away._

“ _You have to stay awake,” he gasped to himself. With every shred of willpower he had left he dragged himself towards the nearest tree and collapsed against it. He pressed his back into the rough bark to keep himself upright._

_The Nemeton was glowing like green fire had erupted from beneath it and Scott had to squint just to look at it._

_And that was when he saw it. At first it looked like a pair of glowing purple eyes. Then it became the outline of a man. Before Scott could focus his eyes on what he was seeing the outline dissolved into a cloud of smoke before forming back into the shape of a solid body again._

_Scott couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer and he felt himself slipping away. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was green fire and violet eyes._

Lydia pressed her tongue to her top lip. Scott recognized this as one of her nervous gestures.

“Well, that doesn’t sound terrifying at all,” said Lydia confidently but they both knew she was lying.

Scott relived the dream repeatedly in his head. He needed to remember every detail. The parts of the nightmare that scared him the most were the parts he couldn’t remember.

“Lydia, I don’t remember going to sleep and between passing out and calling you, I don’t remember waking up, not at home anyway.”

Lydia’s eyes didn’t leave the road as she pulled up outside Scott’s house but Scott could hear her pulse quicken. She sat in silence with her hands still gripped tightly on the steering wheel. Scott caught her scent in the air. She was afraid, terrified in fact. There was something else too, something rich and flowery. He knew what that scent was and in turn he knew what she was thinking about, or rather, who. Stiles. The Nogitsune.

“Scott,” Lydia said suddenly, “how many fingers do you have?”

Scott held up his hand for them both to see. They counted his fingers together.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

“Lydia, I don’t think it was a dream.”

 


	2. Chapter Two

 

Hayden jumped as Liam slammed his locker shut suddenly. She shot him a worried look.

“What?” Liam said when he caught sight of Hayden’s face.

“Nothing,” she replied sarcastically. She shook her head and pulled her bag onto her shoulder.

To Liam’s right Corey kissed Mason swiftly as he left for class. Mason retrieved his books from his locker with a smirk and shoved them into his bag. He spun around to follow Liam and Hayden to their next class but paused mid step when he saw them engaging in some kind of staring contest.

“Did I miss something?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hayden replied only by rolling her eyes and sauntering away. Liam and Mason exchanged a look of confusion and shrugged their shoulders simultaneously.

“What’s her problem?” Mason pried as he fell into step beside Liam.

Liam shrugged again. “I have no idea. She’s been like this all week. It’s like everything I do annoys her.”

“Well, hey, girls are like that, right?” Mason clapped his hands onto Liam’s shoulders. “You guys have full moons and the girls have-”

“Not like this,” Liam interjected. “She’s not even this bad on a full moon and anyway it’s not just her. It’s like somethings wrong with the whole school. It wreaks of anxiety in here.”

Mason, not ready to let go of his usual optimism, offered the first explanation he could think of. “Maybe there’s a test we don’t know about.”

Liam ran his hand through his hair. “I already checked. No tests today. No tests tomorrow. No tests any days this week.”

Mason grabbed hold of Liam’s sleeve and pulled him to one side.

Liam glanced around and confirmed his own fears. “And the worst part is, I think it’s me. At lacrosse practice this morning I didn’t get a single pass and I’ve already got detention twice this week. Look around, and tell me that nobody’s looking right at me.”

Mason turned around slowly and felt his stomach drop. He counted each student as they hurried passed, eyeing Liam suspiciously. Some of them averted their gaze whilst other stared openly as if they were studying something dangerous in a zoo that might escape at any moment.

Without saying a word, Mason dragged Liam into an empty classroom and locked the door behind them.

“Okay, so you think we have a supernatural problem?” said Mason.

Liam dropped his bag onto one of the desks.

“It might not be supernatural,” he offered hopefully.

Mason dropped his bag next to Liam’s and sank into a chair after checking it for gum.

“Well, what are your alpha instincts telling you?”

Liam huffed and crossed his arms as he leant back against the teacher’s desk.

“I’m not an alpha,” he sighed. Liam wiped his hands on his jeans as they began to sweat. Recently it had felt like the pack expected him to step into Scott’s place when he went to college but Liam wasn’t sure if he was ready yet.

Mason considered Liam’s reply for a moment before pulling his phone out. Meanwhile the young beta was still lost in thought.

“Right, we should probably call one then,” Mason suggested as he began to search for Scott’s number.

Liam shook his head as he tried to focus on what Mason was telling him.

“A what?” said Liam, distracted as he picked at a loose thread on his jeans.

Mason leaned forward and waved his hands incredulously. For a moment Liam thought he reminded him of Stiles. It was ironic really, given the position they were in.

“An alpha!” exclaimed Mason.

“Oh yeah.” Liam nodded. “Right.”

Mason picked up his phone again but froze as it began to ring in his hand. Liam winced as the shrill ringing hit his ears.

“Erm, it’s Scott,” Mason muttered in confusion as he stared at the screen for a moment. Had he called him already? He didn’t think so.

Mason accepted the call and put Scott through to speaker.

“Hey,” said Mason as Liam leaped forwards and interrupted him.

“Scott, we have a problem. We think something might be happening at the school.”

Mason rolled his eyes. He had always thought that Liam had a flair for the dramatic.

“That’s why I called,” Scott said through the phone. His voice crackled as the signal faded in and out. “We’re calling a pack meeting tonight. I’ll text you the-”

Scott was cut off by the sound of hurried footsteps and a scream that seemed to reverberate off of the walls around them. Through the door’s window Mason and Liam could see students running. They crashed into each other in their attempts to pass each other. Liam took a long breath in and smelt blood in the air.

Liam and Mason exchanged a quick look before Mason said, “Scott, we’re going to have to call you back.”

Mason ended the call and shoved his phone into his pocket as he burst into the corridor after Liam. He collided with a girl from his homeroom as Liam stood frozen in the middle of the hall.

As Mason swung around to face the now empty hallway, Liam held out an arm.

“Stay behind me,” he said slowly as Mason peered over his shoulder.

His eyes widened. In front of the door to coach’s office, covered in blood from ear to paw, was a dark grey wolf. The wolf didn’t move towards them but snarled as Liam took a step forward. He lowered his arm and held it out in front of him instead as a sign of submission.

“Liam,” Mason began but Liam cut him off.

“Don’t say anything,” he warned as he took another step.

The wolf’s growls began to intensify and it stalked towards Liam. Its teeth were bared. Liam knew that if Scott was here he would have subdued the wolf by now. He was the Alpha. But Liam wasn’t sure if showing the wolf his eyes would work in the same way it did for Scott. He decided it was the only choice he had and closed his eyes. When he opened them again they glowed yellow.

The wolf howled and Liam’s claws emerged, ready to stave off an attack at any moment. He hunched low, ready to shift if he needed to. The wolfs howl faded to a low whine and instead of pouncing as Liam expected it to, it gave him what he felt was a remorseful look and padded down the corridor towards the Lacrosse field.

Liam gestured for Mason to wait as he tracked the wolf through the school until they emerged from between the bleachers onto the Lacrosse field. Liam was half way across the field, heading towards the woods when he heard Mason panting to catch up behind him.

He sensed that the wolf no longer posed a threat and in contrast seemed to want them to follow it.

“You were supposed to stay in the school,” Liam said disapprovingly.

Mason raised an eyebrow as they reached the tree line. “Would Stiles has stayed in the school? I’m supposed to save your ass remember?”

Liam looked down at Mason’s hands as they tramped their way through the woods. “Stiles would have bought the bat.”

They picked up their pace as the wolf began to move faster now, slipping between the trees into the shadows.

The scent of blood was becoming stronger and Liam could smell something else mixed with the metallic odour. Rotting flesh.

“We’re close,” Liam predicted as they pulled each other up a muddy slope after the wolf. The stench of death was so powerful now that Mason could smell it too. He held a hand up to cover his mouth and nose and Liam swallowed bile in the back of his throat.

As they crested the hill the wolf stopped and Liam sprinted the last few feet as the wolf keeled over into the dirt. Liam placed a hand on the wolf’s fur as it took three shallow breaths before fading away.

“It’s dead,” he told Mason.

Mason strode forwards until he was on the very edge of the clearing that they had stumbled into. He stood in stunned silence as he gently lowered his hand back to his side. He swung around in a slow circle.

He was surrounded by wolves. Some of them were still only pups. Their fur was stained with blood as if they’d ripped each other apart and their mouths frothed with white foam. As Liam stepped over one of the smallest wolves to join Mason, he turned back to the wolf that had led them to the woods.

“They all are,” he said as Liam’s eyes began to water. “They’re all dead.”

 

 


	3. Chapter Three

 

Lydia fisted her hands in her jacket pockets and bit her lip. The warm summer air did little to soothe the constant hum of fear that made her heart beat rapidly.

“You feel it too?” Scott said behind her. He bounded up the two steps onto Lydia’s front porch and studied her seriously.

Scott thought she looked drained and paler than usual. Her hair was tied up in a messy ponytail and she didn’t seem to be wearing any makeup, although Scott didn’t think he was much of an expert on the subject. He drew in a soft breath of air and felt Lydia’s anxiety fill his lungs.

“I’m fine,” Lydia chirped, plunging her key into the lock. She let a shield of strawberry blonde hair fall across her cheek to hide the panic in her eyes.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she fought against the scream that had been rising in her throat for the last two weeks.

She pushed the door gently, and slipped through into the hallway. She ushered Prada away from the door so that Scott could slide in behind her before the dog tried to escape into the garden.

Upon seeing Scott, Prada began to growl before bursting into a string of yapping barks as she snapped at Lydia’s heels.

“Prada, stop!” Lydia scolded to no avail. “She’s been like this ever since you dragged me out into the woods.”

Scott’s eyes began to glow and he growled low in his chest. Prada whined and padded down the hallway into the living room.

Lydia hung her coat in the coat closet and dropped her shoes by the door. Scott trailed after her as she began to make her way upstairs.

He hadn’t spent much time in Lydia’s house since her birthday party and decided it looked very different when it wasn’t crowded with people. He secretly hoped he would survive this visit without being poisoned with wolfsbane.

Scott was surprised to find that the house felt warmer and less sterile than he had expected. There were photographs he hadn’t noticed before – probably cleared away for the party – hung on all of the walls and signs of family life on every surface. He thought it was sad that Lydia's was not the happy family it appeared to be but he would never acknowledge it in front of her. 

He hadn’t been paying the photographs much attention but there was one that caught his eye as they reached the top of the stairs. It wasn’t exceptional in any way. He guessed that Lydia would have been around eight or nine when the picture was taken. It was a portrait of Lydia and her parents against a bright white background. Despite the sparse backing they wore hats, gloves and thick coats with fluffy hoods. Lydia’s parents watched with joy as their daughter threw fake burnt orange leaves in the air. Lydia smiled enthusiastically at the camera as they rained back down on her.

As Scott drew closer to the picture he could see what had drawn his eye clearly poking out of the top of Lydia’s coat. A scarf. A bright, rainbow scarf. He squeezed his eyes closed as he tried to remember where he had seen it before but the memory seemed to be lost. He assumed Lydia would know and clambered up the remaining stairs to catch her.

As Lydia climbed the last stair she came to a halt abruptly and Scott grabbed hold of the rail to stop himself from colliding with her.

“What? Too much?” Scott heard Natalie Martin ask her daughter as Lydia took a cautious step forwards to allow Scott to squeeze passed her.

Natalie admired herself in the long mirror opposite the stairs. She smoothed down her dress and turned around for Lydia’s approval. She gave Scott an odd look in the mirror and retreated into her bedroom. Lydia followed and gestured for Scott to do the same.

“You look nice,” Lydia commented suspiciously as she folded her arms and tilted her head.

“I’m having dinner with a friend, I’ve left you food in the fridge,” Natalie replied over her shoulder as she sat down at her dressing table.

Scott felt he was intruding and paused at the door but Lydia sat herself down on the bed.

“Which friend?” Lydia prompted.

She twisted her fingers into the ends of her hair.

Natalie rolled her eyes.

“The Sheriff.”

Lydia sat up straight and Scott backed out onto the landing. The air had become rapidly filled with tension and he was beginning to feel he might not be welcome.

“Sheriff Stilinski?” Lydia said slowly.

Scott felt like he could see cogs moving in Lydia’s head.

“Yes, we’re going to Rosita’s, the Mexican place.”

Natalie fumbled with her earrings and sighed in frustration as one fell onto the carpet. She foraged under the dressing table for it.

Lydia felt that maybe she had missed something, some detail that would explain why her mother was having dinner with Noah Stilinski.

“You’re going on a date with Sheriff Stilinski.” Lydia wasn’t sure if she was asking or processing but Natalie answered anyway.

“It’s just a dinner, Lydia,” Natalie assured her.

Lydia scanned her mother from her Jimmy Choo heels all the way up to her grandmother’s pearls around her neck.

“Then why are you wearing your first date dress?” Lydia countered.

Natalie shook her head and began gathering the last of her things into her purse.

“You do realize that he’s Stiles’ dad, right?” Lydia continued despite her mother’s protests that she was late.

“It’s not a date, and even if it was you don’t need to worry about that. You should be thinking about college.”

Natalie’s head whipped up as the doorbell ring. She made her way out of the bedroom to answer it with Lydia hot on her heels.

“And if it was _that,_ that would mean you were dating my boyfriend’s dad,” Lydia complained as she thudded back down the stairs after her mother. 

The doorbell rang again.

“I have to go,” she said as she swung the door open. She smiled as Sheriff Stilinski stepped into the hallway.

“Natalie, you look great. Lydia, Scott.” He greeted them with a nod as Natalie turned towards the closet at the end of the hall.

“Hey,” they replied in unison.

“Just let me get my coat.” Natalie smiled until she noticed Lydia stalking after her again. “Please, Lydia, let’s talk about this later, you’re embarrassing me,” she admonished as she nodded towards Noah, who was laughing about something with Scott.

“No, let’s talk about this now,” Lydia insisted.

Natalie pulled on her coat and tied the belt around her waist. She shook her head and stepped around Lydia. She picked up her bag from the side table where she had left it.

“Mom,” Lydia called after her as Natalie began to follow Noah out onto the porch.

Lydia grabbed the door and Natalie gave her a tight smile when she saw her standing in the doorframe.

“Lydia, I said we’ll talk about this later,” she affirmed in a clipped tone. Lydia could see her mother’s chest rising and falling heavily as she attempted to calm her frustration.

Noah placed a hand on Natalie’s shoulder and said, “Why don’t I go and get the car started; give you two a moment.”

Natalie nodded and he retreated down the drive to his car.

“He’s my boyfriend’s dad, Mom, please,” Lydia said again. She tried to make her voice softer this time. After a lifetime of being an only child, Lydia had developed the skills for getting what she wanted from her mother. Begging was one of those skills.

“Oh honey,” Natalie took a step towards Lydia. “I know how hard it must be with Stiles so far away but now is the time for you to be focusing on getting ready for college not chasing after a new boyfriend. If your father and I are any example, then you know high school romances just aren’t built to last. Look at you and Jackson. He was so good for you and now you barely speak to him anymore and if I’m completely honest, Lydia, I’m not sure if Stiles is the one for you.”

Lydia couldn’t move. She couldn’t understand how her mother could be so wrong.

“Jackson is a Kanima,” Lydia blurted incredulously.

Natalie’s eyes widened but she didn’t press the subject any further.

“Goodnight, Lydia,” she said finally.

Lydia stood frozen on the porch with her lips parted as Natalie sauntered down the driveway and climbed into the passenger seat.

After a moment, Scott emerged from the hallway behind Lydia.

“Lydia?” He questioned as he came to stand by her side. He noticed that her eyes seemed to have glazed over and he placed a hand on her arm. “Hey, Lydia, you okay?”

Lydia didn’t respond and her skin was ice cold under Scott’s fingers.

“Lydia,” Scott said again, louder this time. He shook her shoulders slowly but she was unaffected. “Lydia,” he growled, his eyes burning red.

Lydia jumped and shook her head. She blinked rapidly and looked up at Scott with wide eyes.

“Are you okay? Did you see something?” Scott pressed urgently.

Lydia gazed out into the garden whimsically.

“We’re all going to die,” she whispered.

 


	4. Chapter Four

 

“Malia,” Lydia said insistently for the fourth time. “You can’t just keep ignoring me.”

Malia slid her highlighter between her teeth and began writing furiously in her notebook. She muttered to herself and crossed out what she had written before rewriting it again.

The highlighter dropped out of her mouth and she shook her head.

“Does saying I work well with people make me sound like I probably don’t work well with them? Because I don’t.”

Lydia rubbed her eyes. “Malia, can we take five minutes away from the job applications to talk about the pack of dead wolves that tore each other apart yesterday?”

Malia didn’t turn away from the task before her and said, “I could be a librarian, right?”

Lydia shook her head and uncrossed her legs. She crossed the room and snatched the applications out of Malia’s hands. “Wrong,” she confirmed.

Malia swung around and bared her teeth, eyes flashing blue. “Give them back.”

Lydia fanned herself with the papers and pretended to consider returning them to Malia.

“Oh, these? Maybe when we’ve talked about what Scott saw in the woods and whether it could be connected to the wolves that Liam and Mason found in – coincidentally - the woods.”

Malia scowled and stood up. She tightened the flannel shirt tied around her waist and leaned back against her desk.

“Fine, wolves or werewolves?” Malia challenged.

Lydia bit her lip. “He said wolves.”

Malia raised an eyebrow before sinking back into her chair and picking up her pen again.

“Not interested. You figure it out,” she said over her shoulder before she bent low over her notebook again. She had been trying to write a covering letter for two days but it turned out she didn’t really have as many employable qualities as she would have hoped.

Meanwhile, Lydia searched her phone for the message that Liam had sent her and held it out in front of Malia’s nose.

“Liam was asking for help from the werecoyote not the banshee.”

Malia pushed the phone away.

“Why me?”

Lydia dropped herself back onto Malia’s bed and pulled one of her pillows onto her lap. She played absentmindedly with the fringe running along the edge.

“Because you’re the former animal. Nobody understands mysterious animal situations like you do,” Lydia reminded her.

“I’m done with mysterious animal situations. I want mysterious men, French ones, the kind that I could be working with a Grappolo’s if you’d leave me alone long enough to apply for the job,” said Malia as she pulled another stack of application forms out of her desk drawer. “Lydia, I really need a job, okay? I’m not like you guys, I don’t have some fancy college to go to at the end of the summer. I barely graduated, I don’t work well with others and I’m not passionate about customer service which makes my chances of getting any kind of job nonexistent.”

Lydia frowned.

“Grappolo’s is Italian.”

Malia threw her hands up in the air.

“Are you serious?” she exclaimed. “Look, Liam’s got everything covered. They were just dead wolves. It doesn’t sound supernatural to me.”

Lydia regarded her with disbelief.

“They attacked each other,” she emphasized as if Malia somehow hadn’t heard her the first time she’d said it.

Malia covered her face with her hands and Lydia thought she heard a growl rumbling in her chest. She let her hands drop onto her lap for a moment before gathering the papers and application forms together and shoving them back into the drawer.

On the forms she had said that she worked well in teams and while that wasn’t exactly true she did work well in one team. She was a part of the pack and now the pack needed her. She thought about Liam, reaching out for help from his fellow Beta’s and how lost he was feeling with the responsibility of becoming the new Alpha. Malia realized, however, that they weren’t fellow Beta’s anymore. Once Lydia, Scott and Stiles’ had gone to college, Liam would be head of the pack. She felt her heart squeeze at the thought of them all being separated. Maybe Stiles was right for wanting to hang onto the best people in his life.

“Okay,” she said to Lydia. “What do we do?”

Lydia smiled softly.

“Well, Scott’s with Deaton now trying to find out anything they can about fear mongering supernatural creatures. Liam and Hayden are following a scent they caught at the school.”

Malia opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by Liam and Hayden bursting into the room with a paper bag clutched between them.

“And you’re not going to believe where that scent took us,” said Hayden.

She shrugged off her jacket and threw it onto the bed.

“We tracked it all the way to the tunnels. It was the same scent as the wolves, the same fear. We found them piled on top of each other. They tore each other apart,” said Liam as he crossed to room towards them swinging the bag in front of him.

“Found what?” asked Malia cautiously as she eyed the bag with disgust. “It wreaks.”

Liam didn’t respond as he peeled open the bag and held it out for Malia and Lydia to see what was inside.

The smell hit Lydia first followed by the sight of blood and matted fur. She gagged and reeled away as Malia sniffed the contents curiously.

“Rats,” Lydia gasped as Liam closed the bag again.

Hayden wrinkled her nose as he grazed her arm with the bag before dropping it onto the desk.

“There were at least a hundred of them, maybe more. They must have freaked out, crawled all over each other and got their tails tangled up. They killed each other trying to get free,” Hayden explained. She looked a little grey. “It was disgusting.”

Lydia nodded sympathetically as Hayden sat down on the bed and breathed heavily.

“So, have you guys thought of anything that could be causing all of this?” asked Liam.

Lydia shook her head and Malia shrugged.

“Not yet,” said Malia. “Deaton’s working on it. I mean, it’s obviously fear but is it coming from that thing that Scott saw or do we have two problems not one.”

They contemplated in silence for what felt like forever to Liam until Lydia suggested they could all do with some sleep if they were going to think of anything useful. As Malia ushered them out of the front door she caught hold of Lydia’s arm. They both watched as Hayden slid herself under Liam’s arm and they walked down the path together. Liam pressed a kiss to Hayden’s forehead before he swung open the door of his car for her to slide into her seat before sprinting around to the driver’s side.

“Do you really want a French waiter?” Lydia asked softly as Liam raised a hand by way of a goodbye and climbed into the car.

“I don’t know,” said Malia honestly. “I want something.”

Lydia pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Stiles?”

Lydia held her breath until Malia answered.

“Maybe,” Malia admitted. Neither of them moved as they watched Liam’s tail lights finally fade away. “Yes, but not like that. I knew he was in love with you I just didn’t want to admit it. When he was in the hunt I realized how much I need him to keep me in control.”

Lydia felt her eyes begin to burn and a tear dripped down her cheek. She swiped it away before Malia could see it although she sensed Malia would have already smelt her emotions. Lydia couldn’t deny that it hurt to think about all the things that Malia had shared with Stiles that she hadn’t. When she was feeling her most vulnerable she was even envious that she hadn’t shared all of those things first.

“Hey,” Malia said awkwardly. “You know I’m not good with crying.”

Lydia laughed thickly and wiped at her eyes again.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” she choked and took a deep breath to steady herself.

Malia’s voice softened. “Because you need him to keep you in control too.”

“When he was in the hunt you said he was your anchor,” said Lydia.

Malia looked at Lydia for a long moment. She couldn’t decide whether that fact made her nervous or a little bitter.

“He was always yours, Lydia, and I knew it.”

 


	5. Chapter Five

 

Corey squeezed his eyes shut as he attempted to return to the world. He removed his hand from the door handle that led to the school counselor’s office and took another deep shuddering breath. He had used to worry that people might notice one of their fellow students melting into reality in front of their eyes, but Corey had since realized that invisibility was his power for a reason. No one ever saw him, not really. Even when he was with Mason, he could feel them staring right through him. Sometimes he thought he might have disappeared by accident.

Gingerly, he pushed the door open and stepped inside just as Counselor Monroe closed the staff room door and settled herself behind her desk.

“Ah, Corey, perfect timing. Take a seat,” she greeted cheerily. Her mouth stretched into a wide dazzling smile and she gestured to the chair opposite her own.

Corey dropped his bag to the floor and slipped nervously into the chair that she offered. He gripped the armrests tightly to slow down his beating heart.

“You seem nervous,” Monroe observed. “You did want to see me, didn’t you, Corey?”

Something about the way she let his name drop from her mouth like a caress made Corey wriggle uncomfortably in his chair. It was like she was teasing him and her gaze made his skin feel tight, like it didn’t belong to his body anymore.

 _Don’t shift._ He thought to himself. _Don’t disappear._

Taking yet another breath he steeled himself.

“Actually, my boyfriend booked the appointment for me. He felt I might have some confidence issues,” said Corey.

Secretly he thought this was ludicrous, as he’d told Mason earlier. Of course he had confidence issues. He had manifested a supernatural ability to roam about the world unseen by anyone. He doubted that any of his other issues could be solved by a high school guidance counselor that probably didn’t even believe in ghosts, let alone werewolves and Chimeras.

Monroe leant her forearms on her desk and pulled her notebook closer to the edge to take notes.

“And you don’t?

Corey shrugged. “Maybe.”

Monroe’s brows knitted together and regarded him with concern.

“Are some kids giving you a hard time?” she guessed. She twirled her pen in her hand. Corey blinked as light bounced around the room, refracted by the metal top.

Corey swallowed thickly. “Kind of, yeah,” he admitted.

Monroe sat back into her chair and scribbled down a note. She paused as if to think.

“Because the thing is, Corey, I’d like to help. If I’m going to do that, you’re going to need to be honest with me. I need to know who’s harassing you.”

His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip and he felt his heart begin to creep into his throat again. It was too hot. Too hot to breathe in the cramped office.

“Why?” Corey shot back. It had come out harsher than he had intended and he tried to push the lump in his throat back down. “It’s no one, really,” he said softer this time, “just a few weird looks, the whispering…” he trailed off.

Monroe dropped her pen onto the desk and leaned forward again. Her eyes were bright and hypnotic and Corey imagined she looked like the Cheshire cat. The image wasn’t as amusing as he thought it would be.

“I just think I could give them a little direction. I won’t condone bullying of any kind. You don’t have to think of it as turning them in, you’re just helping them to be better class mates, but I’m going to need their names, Corey.”

Corey averted his eyes, determined to look anywhere else but at Monroe. His gaze scanned the walls of her office, flitting between the summer rays streaming in through the slatted blinds, and the shelves lined with books that covered nearly every clear wall. There were two books however that caught his eye. They were the only books in the room not neatly shelved away as if they had been read recently. _The Supernatural Afterlife,_ Corey read from the largest book on the top of the pile.

“I was looking for that in the library,” Corey said, hoping to sound conversational. It wasn’t necessarily a lie. He and Mason had been to the library in hopes of finding any information on the new threat, that they knew nothing about, but the entire section on Supernatural Mythology had been cleared. They would know, they’d read them all over the past year.

Monroe started and spun around in her chair. Upon seeing the book, she waved a hand casually and picked it up. She set it down on the desk in front of Corey.

“Take it,” she urged. “I’m done with it anyway. It was an interesting read but a bit vague.”

Corey was surprised by her evaluation and pulled his bag over his shoulder as she slowly walked around the desk. The air had become prickly with tension and Corey began to feel that his appointment was drawing to a close.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something she wasn’t saying, or maybe something that he wasn’t hearing. He wished he could listen to her heartbeat like Scott.

“Really? Mason said it was one of the most in-depth explorations into that field,” he probed. His own heart was hammering against his chest as Monroe stepped towards the door.

She paused, her fingers barely skimming the door handle. She turned to Corey.

“Sometimes, things aren’t exactly what we think they are. The book wasn’t as illuminating as I thought it would be. I found it didn’t have any information that I didn’t already know. I think you’d find the same.”

Her voice had become low and Corey had to step closer just to hear her. Her eyes were ice, boring into his and he shivered before she wrenched the door open and all but pushed him through it.

As he turned back to see her close the door he saw her gaze stray, only for a second, to the drawer of her desk.

He wasn’t sure why, but something about the way she did it made him curious. When he heard her retreat back into the staff room he placed his hand on the door handle and melted into nothingness.

He held his breath as he squeezed into the office in case she returned at any minute. Despite knowing he couldn’t be seen he skirted the room cautiously, treading close to the walls until he was behind the desk.

He expected the drawer to be locked when he saw the small golden keyhole but was surprised to find that it wasn’t. He smiled to himself and glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was alone before he wrenched the drawer open. He cried out in frustration as the drawer jammed midway and a splinted shard of wood slipped into his palm. He watched as his skin began to heal almost immediately, pushing the foreign object out of his body. It landed on the desk with a soft thud.

Corey ducked down to see inside the drawer but it was too dark. He decided to take a leap of faith and shoved his hand into the small gap that he had managed to create by yanking the drawer firmly. He pushed his way through packets of staplers and pens until his hand found something he couldn’t identify. He struggled in the small space to clamp his fingers around the object and pulled it from the drawer.

When it emerged from the darkness, Corey dropped it onto the desk like he’d been burnt.

A gun.

But it wasn’t the gun that made Corey drag his phone out of his pocket and dial Mason’s number with trembling fingers.

The gun was enclosed in a thick plastic wallet, like the ones that Corey used in his binders. The weapon was also wrapped in something else, something that Corey recognized as soon as he saw it.

Mason answered the call as Corey began to shove the gun back into the drawer.

“Mason, I found a gun, at school, in Monroe’s office. No, Mason, listen to me. It’s wrapped in wolfsbane.”

 


	6. Chapter Six

 

Lydia paced up and down the animal clinic surgery as she and Scott waited for Deaton to find the files he had put together for them. After the wolves and the rats, they had decided they needed a more expert opinion on the terror taking over Beacon Hills.

Scott tapped his foot irritably and eventually resolved to help Deaton but only made it half way across the room when Deaton came rushing in with a folder that Scott was hesitant to say looked very thin. Deaton placed it on the examination table and waited for Lydia and Scott to join him around the table.

“Do you want to start with the good news or the bad news?” he asked and Lydia’s heart sank. He didn’t wait for them to answer before continuing. “Now the bad news is I couldn’t find much. Malevolent spirits or creatures that cause fear like this aren’t hard to come by, there’s at least one in every culture. The Horseman of War. The Nogitsune, which we’ve all had personal experience with. They’re tricksters. But that doesn’t help us figure out what this one is.” He closed the file. “The good news is that I might know someone who could help. His name is Marcel Lees and he’s somewhat of an expert on the supernatural.” Deaton slipped passed Scott and thumbed through his keys, which he grabbed from the hook where they hung next to the door, until he found a small gold one that Scott couldn’t remember noticing before. From one of the clinic’s cupboards he retrieved a small secure box and slipped the key into the lock. Before Scott and Lydia could see what he had retrieved, he slipped the little plastic bag into a larger paper bag and handed it to Lydia. “I haven’t seen him in almost fifteen years but if he’s anything like I remember, you’re going to need something to bargain with.”

Four hours later Scott and Lydia found themselves stood outside the most discouraging laundromat either of them had ever seen. Lydia frowned and Scott shrugged his shoulders when she shot him a questioning look.

“This can’t be the right place,” said Lydia as she eyed the peeling paintwork and mismatched selection of washers and dryers. One lone customer wandered around the dimly lit shop.

Scott was sure he agreed but pulled the door open regardless. He held it open for Lydia and gestured her through as he said, “Only one way to find out.”

They began to circle the laundromat looking for a back-room door or anyone other than the one customer they had seen earlier. On closer inspection Lydia found the patron to be an elderly woman with greying skin and long white hair that seemed to billow around her despite there being no fans or breeze indoors. She stopped loading her washing abruptly and watched Lydia with vacant eyes. Lydia shivered.

“Come on,” Scott murmured in Lydia’s ear and pulled her over to a door towards the rear of the laundromat.

Behind the door they found a steep flight of stone steps down into what seemed to be a basement. Clinging to each other and the walls for support they began to make their way down. Scott used his other eyes to guide Lydia in the darkness.

Lydia stumbled slightly as her foot hit the basement floor and Scott reached out a hand to steady her.

The air smelt of honey, incense and something musky that Lydia couldn’t place. The room was almost pitch black except for a few candles lining the higher shelves. Lydia wasn’t sure whether it was the dozens of caged birds hanging from the ceiling or the sinister collection of jars behind the makeshift counter that made her skin crawl. She suspected it was both.

She exchanged a dubious look with Scott before ducking around one of the swinging cages. Scott followed Lydia further into the room, tracing her footsteps as they weaved between shelves of artifacts that Scott had never seen before. He thought he saw something that looked like a triskelion, but it seemed to disappear in a flicker of candlelight.

Lydia approached the counter and drummed her fingers on the worn wood.

“Well this might actually be the worst plan we’ve ever come up with,” said Lydia, holding up what she thought could be the skeleton of a chicken’s foot.

“Deaton said this guy knows more about the supernatural than anyone. I mean, he knows Deaton and we trust him, right? Besides, we’re running out of options.”

Lydia shot him a skeptical look before she slammed her hand down on the counter bell.

“Yeah, Deaton _used_ to know him, over fifteen years ago. I’m guessing he might have change a bit since…” she trailed off as a figure began to emerge from the shadows. 

Scott stepped closer to Lydia and pulled her back a step away from the man that Scott assumed was Marcel. Lydia tugged her arm away from Scott and stepped back towards the counter defiantly. She paused to study Marcel closely to prove – if only to herself – that she could not be intimidated.

Marcel was no taller than Lydia with dark skin and even darker eyes. He was not as unusual as Lydia had expected him to be in his jeans and black t-shirt. The tattoos that covered his arms and hands seemed to be a patchwork of Celtic symbols, script and tribal patterns. When he spoke, his voice was self-assured and almost mocking.

“So, Deaton sent you.”

Lydia rolled her eyes.

“Well, it was more of a recommendation,” she clarified.

Marcel smiled tightly.

“You drove all the way from Beacon Hills on a recommendation?”

Scott let out a loud breath and stepped forwards impatiently.

“Look, we thing we might have let something out of the Wild Hunt and we need to know how to put it back again. Can you help us or not?” Scott asked urgently.

Marcel considered this for a moment. He reached below the counter and produced a set of old measuring scales on the hard wood.

“I assume Deaton gave you a little something for me.”

Scott nodded. “Yeah,” he said as Lydia rummaged in her bag and dropped a small plastic bag of what looked like moss into Marcel’s outstretched hand.

He said nothing and placed the bag on the scales. He then disappeared below the counter again and emerged with a small glass jar of yellow liquid. Within floated a small pink lump of something soft and shaped like a kidney bean. Scott had only recently learned that this was the pituitary gland.

He and Lydia grimaced in unison.

Marcel plunged his fingers into the jar and scooped the pituitary gland into his palm. He examined it closely for a minute before placing it onto the other side of the scales. Against all logic, Scott watched as the bag of moss seemed to become significantly heavier than it had been before and sunk below the pituitary gland.

He looked over at Lydia for explanation, but she shook her head discreetly.

Marcel seemed satisfied with this result.

“The payment is fair,” he concluded. He returned the pituitary gland to the jar and stowed the moss in his pocket. The jar and scales were placed carefully below the counter again. “The creature you’re looking for is called the Anuk-ite. It’s a shapeshifter, like yourself. It feeds on fear and disharmony. Neighbor turns on neighbor. The seeds of discord are sown.”

Marcel leant forwards against the counter and Scott waited for him to continue but he didn’t say another word.

“Okay and how do we put it back into the hunt?” Lydia prompted although she was sure she already knew the answer.

Marcel laughed and crossed his arms. “Put it back? You can’t put it back! Do you know what it took to get it in there in the first place? You have unleashed a veritable god of terror and strife like you’ve never seen before. You can’t just ‘put it back.’”

Scott let out a low growl. “If you already knew what it was, why did you take the payment knowing you can’t help us?”

Lydia was becoming frustrated by the exchange and decided it was time to leave.

“Give it back,” she demanded taking another step towards the counter.

Marcel raised his hands in false surrender and lifted his chin defiantly.

“Unfortunately, that won’t be possible, not even for a Banshee.” He raised a finger. “I can help you however, I just can’t help you save your pack.” His eyes settled on Scott. “Oh, I know all about you Scott McCall. After all, I know everything there is to know about the world of werewolves and nightmares.” Marcel strolled around the counter and Scott and Lydia unconsciously took a step back. “You’ve been a true Alpha for how long now? A year or so. And you-” he turned to Lydia, “- a Banshee still only on the very edge of discovering her power. Scott, have you ever wondered how Theo managed to steal powers from his pack? Do you know what it really takes to absorb another creatures power?” He said this with such a relish that it made Scott nervous. “Lydia, how would it feel to be the one saving people, not just screaming when they’re already dead? Wouldn’t you both like to know more about what you can do?” 

 


	7. Chapter Seven

 

Lydia watched the pack over Scott’s shoulder as they descended on her kitchen and the snacks that she had prepared for them. Liam laughed, Cheetos spilling out of his mouth, as Malia snorted on her drink until it leaked out of her nose.

Lydia shook her head and turned her attention back to Scott. They were huddled in the doorway of Lydia’s kitchen contemplating their plan of action for the pack meeting that was about to commence.

“So, we tell them everything?” said Scott resolutely. Somehow he still managed to make it sound like a question.

“Yeah, everything except the part where I had a premonition that I was screaming and we were all dying.”

“Right.”

“And the bit about the claws and the power leeching.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, erm, and the thing about me.”

Scott grimaced and nodded his head in agreement. “So, we tell them nothing?”

Lydia stepped closer when she saw Mason observing them suspiciously. She worried for a moment that the werewolves in the room might be able to hear her, but they seemed otherwise preoccupied throwing pretzels into each other’s mouths. Their attempts were surprisingly poor considering their superior reflexes.

She placed a hand on Scott’s shoulder and pulled him into the hall.

“Not nothing,” she hesitated, “just not everything.”

Scott nodded again and sighed submissively as he stepped back into the kitchen and called for quiet. It took him two failed attempts at a shout before he eventually let rip a more subdued roar than Lydia was used to. She still felt it reverberate in her chest, however, and it seemed to have the desired effect on the rest of the room.

“Thank you,” Scott said gently, “for coming.”

Lydia slid herself onto the breakfast stool next to Malia and turned to listen intently like she didn’t already know what Scott was going to say.

Scott’s eyes swung around the room. Liam and Hayden, he counted. Mason and Corey towards the back. Lydia and beside her an empty seat that she rested her hand on gently. Scott had noticed the way she did this recently, as if she was saving a seat, a space for someone else. A someone that wasn’t coming because she hadn’t answered his calls in over two weeks.

And finally, Malia. She sat alone, her tousled hair falling into her eyes as Scott felt something deep inside of him beg her to look up.

As his gaze lingered a little too long he thought he saw her nose wrinkle and her head snapped up. She frowned directly at him.

He swallowed hard and launched into what he could only hope was a concise description of what he and Lydia had managed to coax out of Marcel before they had left. With a little extra digging from Deaton they were starting to get a pretty good picture of what they were dealing with. Lydia and Scott would be lying if they said they weren’t terrified.

“Wait, you mean we let loose a Native American Horseman of War?” said Mason, his mouth hanging slightly open.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “You’re mixing your mythologies, but yes, we did.”

“You mean _you_ did?” Hayden interjected. She began to stand from her position on the floor but Liam yanked her back down.

Hayden slapped his hand away.

“You’re kidding, right?” barked Malia before Lydia could say a word. “If Lydia hadn’t bought Stiles back we’d all be riding with the hunt right now and we don’t know for certain that it came out of the rift Lydia made. As far as I’m concerned, Scott saw that thing come out of the Nemeton, so if you want someone to blame you should blame-”

“Scott, Stiles and Allison, for drowning themselves in ice water, supercharging the Nemeton and releasing the Nogitsune?” Hayden continued.

Lydia seemed to shrink in her seat at the mention of Allison’s name and her eyes squeezed shut as Hayden let the last word fall of her tongue.

Scott held his hands up as Malia rocketed out of her chair. Hayden fixed her with an icy glare.

“Enough,” he growled harshly and the young beta’s crawled back to their seats. “We don’t have time for this. Mason, you said you had something?” Scott sounded hopeful.

Mason pulled Corey forwards by the hand. “Actually, not me.”

Corey took a step forwards. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth before he repeated everything that had happened when he was with Monroe to the pack. They watched him with a mixture of wide eyes and troubled expressions and when he was finished there was only a long silence, permeated by the hum of the dish washer.

After a stretch of what Scott assumed was quiet contemplation the pack burst into life all at once.

“Wait, so it was wrapped in what?”

“I said there was something not right about those wolves and then the rats…”

“I just wanted a French waiter, how hard is that?”

“Oh god, our guidance counselor knows about the supernatural.”

“This Marcel guy sounds like a tool.”

Lydia dropped her head into her hands as their voices blurred together. She dragged herself off the bar stool and weaved towards Scott, the only person not speaking, but froze as another voice broke up the confusion.

“Oh no, not in my house,” Natalie Martin’s voice cut through the din.

Lydia winced and sighed heavily as she came to a halt in front of Scott. She turned around slowly as the kitchen became quiet. “Mom,” she said brightly, by way of a greeting.

Natalie dropped her bag onto the worktop and raised a finger at Lydia. “What part of making this house a supernatural free area did you not understand?”

Lydia opened her mouth to respond but Malia stepped forwards before she could speak again.

“Your daughter is a Banshee,” she said bluntly. “She can’t just turn that off whenever she comes home.”

Natalie raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. Lydia clicked her tongue to fill the silence that followed and twisted around to face the rest of the pack.

“Maybe we should finish this another time,” she suggested and licked her lips nervously.

The pack began to gather their things and averted their gazes as they passed Natalie. From over her mother’s shoulder Lydia could see them exchanging worried expressions as they crowded by the door to wait for Scott.

Scott, however, hadn’t even picked up his bag. “Mrs. Martin, I know how scary all of this can be sometimes - for all of us - but Lydia is a part of my pack and I promise you that I won’t let anything happen to her.” Scott took a cautious step forwards.

Natalie mirrored his advances and stepped away from the door. She gestured for Scott to leave. Scott sighed and slung his backpack over one shoulder. He had almost passed Natalie when she grabbed his arm and fixed him with a hard stare.

“Did you make Argent that same promise?”

Lydia whispered, “Mom, no,” as Scott pulled his arm away and strode down the hall, pushing the rest of the pack through the door. Lydia wince as she heard it slam behind them.

“That wasn’t fair,” Lydia said through gritted teeth.

She could feel hot, angry tears beginning to well in her eyes and her lips settled into a tight line.

“What wasn’t fair was you bringing them all here. Do you think I enjoyed having to do that?” she asked in disbelief. “Why can’t you see that I’m just trying to help you, Lydia? That I want what’s best for you? You have always been more mature than the others, more focused. It used to make me so proud to tell my friends how well you were doing in school and how happy you were, and now you’re throwing all of that away.”

Natalie’s voice was rising and Lydia could feel her fury building.

“Mom,” she tried to say but Natalie cut across her.

“No, Lydia, all you seem to care about anymore is trying to get yourself killed, and Stiles, a boy who takes you off gallivanting in the middle of the night.”

Lydia swallowed and forced herself not to shout.

“Mom, he doesn’t take me ‘gallivanting’ anywhere. We have to protect Beacon Hills from-”

“You don’t have to protect anything but yourself, Lydia! And these friends that you have they’re not trying to protect you they’re trying to use you to fight these…” she seemed to struggle to find the words, “these _things_ that kids your age shouldn’t have any business fighting. You need to leave this to the police now.”

Lydia could barely hear herself think. She could barely breathe. She felt her response pushing up her throat like a scream. She swallowed it again and again but it ripped at her vocal chords. She told herself to retreat upstairs. If she appeased her mother she could maybe bring her around but she knew that that was never going to happen.

“The police? Did you talk about that at dinner?” Lydia paused. “The one I begged you not to go to.”

Natalie’s eyes flashed. She stared at her daughter like she didn’t recognize the girl standing in front of her anymore, and if she was completely honest, she didn’t.

 


	8. Chapter Eight

 

Malia threw her bag down on Scott’s bed and stripped out of her jumper. She kicked off her boots and socks and sank down onto the soft covers. She propped herself up on her elbows when she felt Scott’s eyes on her.

“What?”

Scott shook his head in bewilderment and threw his book onto the bed beside her. He leaned back in his computer chair and laced his fingers together in his lap.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he chided with a smirk and let his gaze drift from her ankles to her face, faltering as he skimmed over the curve of her legs. Had they always been so long?

Malia watched him intently before dragging the book onto her chest and falling back onto the bed again.

“ _American Indian Trickster Tales_ ,” Malia read from the cover. She dropped the book flat onto her stomach to look at Scott. “Didn’t you already kill one trickster? Because I’m not in a hurry to do one myself.”

Scott nodded and reached out for the book. She sat up and handed it back to him.

“I covered _American Indian Myths and Legends_ before you got here,” he clarified as he thumbed the leather bookmark sticking out of the top of the book before placing it gently down on his desk. It was one of the few books Scott already owned and hadn’t had Corey steal from the library once Liam’s card had reached its limit. They had all been surprised to find the books on supernatural phenomenon had coincidentally reappeared after Corey’s incident at the school.

Malia took in Scott’s room curiously. She hadn’t spent as much time in here as she would have liked. She found watching Stiles and Scott play video games mind-numbingly tedious and without Stiles what other reason would she have to be here?

Except there she was to study with Scott. It might be Anuk-Ite’s not Algebra but somehow it was still the same. She noticed that he had a notebook already open for her on the desk with the gel ink pens that she likes and highlighters in red, green, blue and yellow.

Scott’s eyes followed Malia’s line of sight. “I photocopied one of the books for you to start on. I know you don’t like taking long notes.”

Malia looked up in surprise. She hadn’t realized that anybody had noticed that except Stiles. It was Stiles who had taught her how to even study in the first place and how to take notes.

Malia crawled onto her stomach and reached out off the bed. Scott smiled and handed her the highlighters, pen and wad of photocopying. She contemplated hunkering down and getting started but something was nagging at her mind that she just couldn’t ignore.

“Scott? Can I ask you something?”

Scott raised his head. His brows knitted together with concern at the softness of her tone, how cautious she sounded.

“Yeah, sure.”

Malia hesitated, holding one of the highlighters between her teeth for a moment before letting it swing between her fingers.

“After Allison died, and you met Kira, how did it feel?”

Scott was blindsided. He almost dropped the book in his lap. He composed himself before doing what he always did. He said the first thing that came into his head.

“Terrifying.” He laughed nervously and slid a hand down his face. “God, she was, terrifying. My mom said that I’d fall in love again and it would be just as amazing as the first time, but it was never really about that. It was never about replacing Allison.” Scott paused and smiled sadly. “You know, someone did a study that said you only fall in love with three types of people in your life. Your first love is crazy and new, and you don’t think you’ll ever lose it. I don’t think I ever will. But then there’s your second love. They’re the person that shows you how to heal, how to move on, how to live again. Kira was my second love.”

Malia licked her lips unconsciously. Somehow Scott had a way of making everything he said sound like some kind of inspirational speech. She wished he could have given her teachers some advice on motivation.

“And what about the third?” Malia choked.

Scott shrugged casually. “I’m still looking for it, I guess. I think I’ll know when I find it. The third love is the best one, it’s the one that lasts forever.”

The way he said it, the way he looked at her when he did, made the air rush out of Malia’s lungs and she coughed to hide her breathlessness. She swallowed thickly and flicked her eyes down to the book in front of her.

"Right,  _Native American Tales and Myths,_ let's do this." 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After two hours of endless reading Malia dropped her highlighter and collapsed back onto the floor. She stretched out and Scott raised his head in time to see her shirt pull up to her navel. He tore his eyes away and put down his pen. He rubbed his neck and leant back in his chair.

“Coffee?” he offered as Malia raised her head to check the time on her phone.

She ignored him and threw her hands up in defeat.

“This isn’t working. We should have called Stiles,” she exclaimed.

She rolled onto her side and wedged her hand under her head for support. Scott swung his chair around to face her and bent forwards, resting his arms on his knees.

“We promised Lydia we wouldn’t,” he reminded her. He tried to ignore the shadows forming under her eyes and the way that they seemed to make her eyes burn into him.

“Well it was a stupid promise,” said Malia, fixing him with a gaze so smoldering Scott could feel heat rising around his collar. He pushed the feeling away and unbuttoned the top of his shirt.

He smiled softly. “We almost lost him last time.”

Malia sighed as she remembered. She still felt guilty that she could have forgotten him. There were still some memories that felt fuzzy around the edges.

She admitted to herself that Scott was right. Stiles was only human and the dangers they faced had a habit of coming with claws. She reasoned that none of them, however, were immune to that either.

“And what if I lose you too,” she said so quietly that Scott almost missed it.

He raised an eyebrow at Malia.

“You’re worried about losing me?” Scott asked incredulously.

Malia shook her head slightly and set it down onto her arm.

“Yeah, me, all of us – you know what I mean,” she corrected. She hoped she had sounded as blasé as she was trying to be. She chanced a look at Scott when she felt his eyes on her. His brows were knitted together and Malia recognized this as his thinking face.

“Yeah, I think so,” he said slowly as he leant back in his chair again. He suddenly felt all his recently sleepless nights catching up to him and his eyelids became heavy.

Malia, however, felt more awake than she had in days.

“And Stiles wouldn’t be okay with any of this.” She paused to sit up. She could see the way Scott’s shoulders slumped and worried he might have fallen asleep. He opened his eyes as she said, “If he knew all the things we were trying to do without him, he’d kill us.”

“I think he’d be okay,” Scott assured her sleepily.

“With this?” Malia gestured to the printed Bestiary pages that littered the floor around them.

Scott yawned and closed his eyes again.

“With us,” he murmured before finally succumbing to exhaustion.

Malia sat in silence for a moment. Her forehead creased and she pushed herself onto her knees.

“What do you mean?” She crawled closer to Scott. She focused her ears on his heartbeat and heard it gently beginning to slow. “No, no, don’t fall asleep. I don’t think you’re supposed to fall asleep because I’m really confused by what we’re talking about.”

She placed a hand awkwardly on his knee and shook it. “Come on, Scott, wake up!” she urged raising her voice slightly.

When he didn’t stir she fell back onto the floor, rolling onto her back to stare at the ceiling. She considered leaving but eventually decided that that might confuse them both even more, although at this point she wasn’t exactly sure what she was confused about.

 


	9. Chapter Nine

 

Lydia crossed her legs and stared blankly at the paper in front of her. She sat in Stiles’ bedroom surrounded by the pages torn from her notebook with her head in her hands. It had been three weeks since she’d even dared to answer Stiles’ phone calls. Now she gritted her teeth as his name appeared on the phone to her left and the little device began to jingle again. Lydia sighed deeply and began to gather the paper together. She was struggling to concentrate and decided she wasn’t going to be able to hypnotize herself any time soon.

“You should really answer that.”

Lydia dropped the stack of paper in surprise as Sheriff Stilinski nodded towards the phone as it fell silent. He leant against the door frame and watched Lydia curiously. He still found her abilities mesmerizing and terrifying in equal measure.

Lydia collected the paper together again and climbed to her feet. She stretched her aching legs. Then she ran a hand through her hair absentmindedly and said, “I don’t know what to say.”

The Sheriff nodded, pressing his lips together and stepped further into the room.

“You need to say something,” he suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Lydia slipped her phone into her pocket as she considered her reply. There were so many things she needed to tell Stiles that she wasn’t entirely sure where to start.

She dropped the paper into the bin beside Stiles’ desk before sinking down onto the bed.

“Can I ask you something? You might think I’m crazy,” Lydia said after a while looking up at the Sheriff with wide eyes.

“Well, I think that would depend on the question,” he replied as he took the empty space beside her on the bed. “You asked me to believe that my wife was a figment of my imagination, in this room, and you turned out to be on to something. Don’t start doubting yourself now.”

Lydia smiled to herself at the familiar remark. She knotted her fingers together in her lap.

“Do you believe in soulmates?

Lydia’s cheeks flushed as the last word rolled off her tongue.

Sheriff Stilinski let out a long breath.

“I believe in a lot of things I never thought I _could_ believe in. Are we talking about Stiles?” he asked gently.

Lydia scowled. He was humoring her; she could hear it in the soft lilt of his voice. He was attempting to sound like he didn’t think he was talking to a lovesick teenager. Lydia didn’t think he was very convincing.

“Yes… no, not really. It’s about me. It’s something that I can do if something ever happened to Stiles but I can only do it if we’re soulmates,” Lydia let out in a rush.

Sheriff Stilinski’s brow furrowed.

“And you don’t think you are?” he asked.

Lydia considered this for a moment. She’d never believed in anything as banal as soulmates or ever thought that hers might turn out to be Stiles Stilinski.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “If we’re not I could kill us both.”

The Sheriff didn’t respond for a moment and Lydia worried that he hadn’t heard her. She opened her mouth to speak again as he began in a reminiscent voice.

“My son’s name is Mieczyslaw Stilinski. Do you know how many people can actually say that name except for Stiles himself? Two. You and me.” He paused to look at her. “When Stiles was a kid _he_ couldn’t even say it. The closest he ever got was –”

“Mischief,” Lydia finished.

The Sheriff nodded.

“Mischief. And he certainly was that, but do you want to know what he says when he wakes up screaming; his own mantra?”

Lydia nodded, her eyes fixed on a small stain on the carpet. Stiles never liked to talk about his nightmares and Lydia felt like she was intruding as the Sheriff continued.

“Ariel and Mischief.”

His words hung heavy in the air and Lydia’s chest burned for a second with emotion.

“Now I’ve never asked but I’ve got a feeling that that might be you. You’re his anchor, Lydia, you always have been. So, are you his soulmate? Maybe, maybe not, but if you don’t talk to him soon you might never find out.”

The Sheriff slid his own phone out of his pocket and shook it at Lydia to emphasize his point. He rolled his shoulders and groaned.

“I had better get going,” he announced, unconsciously thumbing his badge. “Stay as long as you need, just lock up on your way out.”

He placed a reassuring hand on Lydia’s shoulder as he got to his feet. Lydia let her eyes fall closed as the Sheriff’s hand squeezed her shoulder and he began to cross the room. She was tired: mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted.

In the doorway Sheriff Stilinski turned back to look at Lydia.

“Just call him,” he said and then he was gone.

Lydia sat in silence until she heard his car roar to life and ease out onto the street. When she was sure she was alone she tugged her phone out of her jeans and paused, her finger hovering over Stiles’ number. She sighed again and pressed her thumb down on Scott’s name instead. She waited patiently as the phone rang once, twice, three times and then again until she had almost given up. Scott answered before she could lift the phone away from her ear to disconnect the call.

“Hey, Lydia. Lydia?”

His voice was husky, and Lydia worried she might have woken him.

“Sorry, bad time?” She didn’t wait for him to answer before she continued. “Anyway, I’ve got an idea. I don’t know if it will work and it probably won’t, but I was thinking what if I try and use the Nemeton to channel my power? If I could just have another premonition, something, it might help us at least come up a plan.” She walked over to Stiles’ investigation board and traced the strings that she had put up herself with her fingertips. “Because right now I’m staring at the board and nothing is making any sense. Like I said, I don’t know if it will work but it’s worth a try, right?”

Lydia waited as Scott breathed down the phone. “Anything is worth a try at this point. Malia’s already here. We’ll meet you at the preserve – same place as last time.”

Lydia slipped her phone back into her pocket and took a deep breath to help her focus her mind. The board in front of her didn’t have much on it. She had pinned pictures of the wolves and the rats together and joined a thread to them. Above it she had stuck one of her drawing of the Nemeton to the board and below that she had written her own name with a question mark after the premonition. In the middle of the board she had simply written ‘Anuk-ite’ with all strings connecting to it. She only had red thread on the board.

She rubbed her eyes tiredly and contemplated calling Stiles for help. Keeping him away from Beacon Hills had become paramount to her maintaining her sanity but it was becoming more apparent every day that they needed his help. The pack was always strongest together and right now there was a huge hole in the middle of it. There was a small part of her that wanted him back because she was selfish. No matter how dangerous Beacon Hills had become she still couldn’t fight the urge to hear his voice.

She pulled her phone out again and pressed Stiles’ number instead. She reached his voicemail immediately. His phone was turned off.

“Hey, it’s me.” She paused. She hadn’t planned what she would say if he didn’t answer. “I, er, I’m just calling to see how you are. You’re probably in a class right now. So…” she trailed off. She knew what he wanted her to say. He wanted her to say it back. He wanted her to tell him that she loved him too but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him over the phone. “Just call me back whenever you get this, that’s if you’re still talking to me, I understand if you’re not. I just-” She was cut off by the message tone. 

“I just miss you,” she said to herself. 

 


	10. Chapter Ten

 

Malia blinked rapidly as Scott hauled open the curtains and stark summer sunlight burst through the windows. She eased herself onto her knees and took in her surroundings. Scott was moving around the room collecting his clothes for the day and wished her a quick ‘good morning’ before disappearing into the bathroom.

Malia pulled herself to her feet. She’d fallen asleep curled in a ball on the floor next to Scott’s bed and her back ached despite the soft carpet. The bed was still made and Malia guessed that he had slept all night in his chair.

They’d been up for hours trying to find anything they could about the Anuk-ite but hadn’t had much luck. Malia considered that maybe if they had had Stiles there to help them they may have found more.

Yet, when she recalled the conversation she’d had with Scott the night before she deduced it was probably best that Stiles hadn’t been there.

Scott emerged from the bathroom as he was pulling his shirt over his head. He smiled as he caught Malia’s eyes fall briefly to his chest before she turned away and pretended to be interested in something outside. Scott debated whether he should indulge her and leave her to think about what he had said before they’d fallen asleep.

He was almost out of the door before a soft sweet scent caught his attention. Chemo signals. She didn’t want him to leave. At least, he didn’t think she wanted him to leave.

“Malia,” Scott said softly as he made his way towards her.

“Mmmhmm,” Malia grunted.

She swallowed as she tried to ignore the sound of his footsteps drawing closer behind her. Her eyes fluttered closed and she felt him come to a stop behind her. His hands skimmed over her waist gently. Scott stepped forward again until their bodies were only an inch apart and Malia felt heat beginning to creep up the back of her neck. Slowly she twisted around to face him. He was so close she could feel his breath brush across her cheeks.

Malia could hear his heartbeat rising as he took another step closer. His hands glided down over her hips, leaving trails of goosebumps, to take hold of her hands shyly.

Scott’s phone burst to life as Malia closed her eyes. For a moment he ignored the ringing, reluctant to pull away. They broke apart and cool morning air rushed into the space between them. Malia immediately missed the warmth she had felt emanating from Scott.

Scott pressed the phone to his ear and murmured, “Hey, Lydia. Lydia?”

His voice was deep and throaty. Malia could hear his heart beginning to slow along with her own. He sat down on the bed and looked up at her with longing eyes. She knew that her own eyes had begun to glow blue with the realization of what could have just happened.

Scott’s eyes however changed to those of urgency and worry and he was nodding to himself as Lydia’s voice carried though the phone to Malia.

“ _I don’t know if it will work but it’s worth a try, right?” s_ he was saying. 

“Anything is worth a try at this point. Malia’s already here. We’ll meet you at the preserve – same place as last time.”

Scott ended the call and met Malia’s questioning eyes.

“Lydia has an idea.”

Fifteen minutes later Malia found herself sat in silence in the front seat of Stiles’ jeep. She fixed her eyes on the road and tried desperately to avoid looking into any mirror that might cause her and Scott’s eyes to meet. 

After another moment of listening to nothing but the engine sputtering, Scott said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Malia looked over at him with wide eyes.

“About what?” She paused, averting her gaze. “Why? Do you want to talk about something?”

Scott smiled to himself. He leaned back into his seat with one hand on the steering wheel.

“Something?” he teased with a smile.

Malia shot him an indignant look. Her hands gripped the edge of the seat and her claws pressed into the worn fabric.

“Yes, something! What the hell were you doing in there?” Malia huffed.

Scott’s smile fell and he chanced a glance away from the road towards her.

“What was I doing? You were doing it too,” Scott shot back.

Malia had long removed her seat belt and she twisted around to face him. He was leaning forwards now, his brows knitted together as he maneuvered the uneven ground onto the preserve.

“You fell asleep,” she said almost to herself. “You fell asleep,” she accused, louder this time.

Scott parked the car abruptly behind Lydia’s and pulled the key out of the ignition with so much force Malia was surprised it didn’t break off.

“I fell asleep? You’re upset because I fell asleep? You didn’t want it, Malia. I put ‘us’ out there and you weren’t okay with it,” Scott argued as Lydia climbed out of her car and leaned against the door to wait for them.

“I didn’t have time to be okay with it because you fell asleep,” Malia concluded as she scrambled out of the Jeep and slammed the door behind her.

Scott sat in shock for a moment before climbing down from the driver’s seat and stalking after her. As he reached Lydia she raised her hands in submission.

“I don’t even want to know,” she said before her arms dropped back to her sides and she set off in what she hoped was the direction of the Nemeton.

Malia growled under her breath and stamped after her as Scott followed dumbfounded. They seemed to walk in circles for a while. Scott reached out to steady Malia as her foot found a fallen branch but she shrugged him off.

As they finally emerged onto a section of the path that Scott didn’t remember covering at least three times already, Lydia came to a halt in front of them.

“We’re close,” she said in a soft voice and Scott realized she had probably been in a fugue state since they left the car. “Scott, use your eyes.”

Scott allowed himself to give in to his frustration with Malia for a moment and shifted. He scanned the trees for a moment before he saw the familiar tree stump in a clearing no more than 10 meters away.

“There,” Scott said as he returned to his human form and pointed through the trees.

Lydia followed his gaze and said, “I see it,” before striding ahead again. She dodged through the trees until she stood right in front of the once worshiped tree, reduced now only to a fraction of its former wonder.

Scott pushed his way into the clearing and jumped as Malia spoke for the first time since they’d got out of the jeep.

“So, what’s she going to do? Sit on it?”

Lydia rolled her eyes and swung around.

“I hadn’t really thought about that part,” she said through tight lips. “But, yes, I guess, I’ll sit on it.”

Scott and Malia stepped closer to Lydia as she hopped up onto the Nemeton and sat down with her legs crossed. She shuffled for a moment to get comfortable before resting her hands on her knees. She let her eyes fall closed as she felt herself beginning to relax. She imagined a pin prick of white light and mentally made her way towards it to try and focus her mind.

“You look like that Buddha guy,” Malia cut through the quiet. Scott shook his head and Lydia pressed her lips together. “What? She does.”

“Yogi,” Lydia corrected, closing her eyes again.

“What?”

Lydia’s eyes shot open and she let out a long breath.

“A yogi; I look like a yogi. Buddha has his hands in his lap. Now I can’t do anything unless you let me concentrate.”

She closed her eyes one last time before tuning out everything around her. The wood was hard beneath her legs but she ignored it and instead imagined she was pressing herself deeper into it. She envisioned she was grounding herself into the earth until she became one with the tree roots. She followed the white light again and held up a hand to shield her eyes against it until it began to fade. She lowered her arm again to find herself no longer in the woods.

The underground tunnels stretched out in front of her. Ahead the light was still glowing but now it filled the tunnel completely. She walked towards it with her hand outstretched, but it always seemed to pull further away from her at the last moment. The light was still fading rapidly and she began to run as she thought she saw something, someone trying to push their way through the blaze.

She was almost there, she had almost reached him when she was engulfed by what was left of the light. When she burst through to the other side she found her hands not clutched around a solid body but air.

Scott and Malia were only a few feet away from her now. They observed her like worried parents.

Lydia’s hands began to shake as she brought them back down to her knees and the pieces began to fall into place. The red string. The investigation board. The rift they had created in the tunnels.

“Stiles. I need Stiles.” Lydia said quietly into her lap. She raised her head and Scott and Malia waited impatiently for her to say, “We need to call Stiles. He’s my anchor.” 

 


	11. Chapter Eleven

 

Tamora Monroe shivered and wrapped her arms around herself as she stepped out into the night. The parking lot was illuminated by the light of a single street lamp that flickered as she scanned the lot. Shadows danced across the few cars that had been long abandoned at their posts and another shake wracked her body.

She had never had cause to venture into this part of town and she couldn’t decide is she thought the industrial landscape made her feel powerful or nervous. She decided on the latter and wished that she had bought her gun. She smiled to herself ruefully and rolled her eyes. She was stood in the parking lot of Argent Munitions and she was wishing she’d bought a hand gun?

She thumbed the little card in her pocket and fixed her eyes on the side entrance that she had been instructed to use. It had been crisp and white when she found it on her desk this morning but now the edges were frayed from her fingers working nervously over the paper.

With a final breath, she steeled herself and strode towards the door. She hesitated for no more than a second when her hand brushed the handle before tugging the door open and stepping inside. As she let the door swing shut behind her she squinted into the darkness. Ribbons of moonlight peaked through the boarded windows and illuminated a small storage area lined with crude wooden shelves.

She wasn’t surprised to find him already waiting for her. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, maybe something closer to a Bond villain or a mafia boss. Instead, she found herself face to face with a man she had only heard about but never met. He was taller than she had predicted and smartly dressed, she couldn’t deny that. She supposed in a way he looked almost tired with hollow dead eyes and a smattering of fine white hair clinging to his scalp.

“You must be the one they call Monroe,” Gerard supposed as he stepped forward into the light.

Tamora instinctively took a quick step back as two men she hadn’t seen before emerged from the shadows behind him. She cursed herself for letting her fear show so blatantly.

“And you must be Gerard,” she replied. She was proud when she found her voice didn’t shake like her hands did.

Gerard chuckled to himself and held out a hand.

“Come, we’re friends now. There’s no need to be nervous.”

Tamora eyed the hand he offered gingerly before she allowed him to guide her towards a door at the back of the room.

“You see, I’m hoping that we can become very good friends in the conflicts that are to come. We share a common enemy you and I,” he began as he placed a hand between her shoulder blades and held the door open for her. “I want to talk about the ways that we can help each other.”

Tamora glanced up at Gerard uncertainly before surrendering to the gentle nudge of his hand against her shoulders. As she moved into the room before her, Gerard flipped a switch beside the door.

The chamber ahead was windowless and smelt of old tarp. She shielded her eyes as bright white lights flickered to life, bringing the room into focus.

At first, she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. She recognized pallets and industrial cages, but it was only when she drew closer to inspect them that she discovered their contents. Weapons. Enough to arm half of Beacon Hills.

Tamora swallowed thickly. “What do you want me to do?” she asked uncertainly. She was embarrassed to admit that her throat had gone dry with both excitement and terror. This could be the answer. This could be how she eradicated the supernatural population of Beacon Hills forever.

Gerard placed a steady hand on her shoulder and pulled her around to face him.

“Right now, I have a collection of my most loyal associates surrounding Scott McCall’s home. Inside is the great Alpha himself, a werecoyote and a banshee. On my order those associates will fire at will. Shoot to kill.” He handed her a small burner phone from his pocket with a phone number already typed in.  "Give the order"

 

* * *

 

Scott watched Lydia closely as she drummed her fingers against the countertop. She sighed as she turned off the gas and poured steaming milk into her mug. He could see that she was exhausted from the tense set of her shoulders.

Beside him Malia was still silently contemplating everything that they had told her.

“So, explain this to me again. If we die, you can bring us back?” she asked again, pointing at Lydia.

Lydia rolled her eyes and jumped up onto the countertop. She held her mug precariously in one hand as she picked at a loose thread poking out of Stiles’ pajama bottoms before folding her legs underneath herself. She closed her eyes at Malia’s ignorance.

“I can bring _Stiles_ back,” she clarified before taking a sip of her hot chocolate. “Well, maybe, it’s complicated.”

“More complicated than the premonitions, fugue states and random screaming? Perfect.” Malia nodded to herself and plunged her hand into the bowl of Cheetos in front of her. As she scooped a handful, she felt Scott’s eyes burning a hole in the side of her neck and dropped them back into the bowl. She wiped her hands and popped a single cheese puff delicately into her mouth.

Lydia eyed her curiously and Scott tapped his fingers against his leg awkwardly. After a moment Scott opened his mouth to break the silence but she was saved by the back door opening and Liam and Hayden tripping through the door.

Hayden rubbed her hands together. “Is it just me, or is this the coldest summer ever. I can’t seem to get warm.”

Liam surveyed Lydia, who was wrapped in a warm robe and fluffy socks, hugging her mug to her chest. “I don’t think it’s just you.”

Hayden nodded and shivered again as she felt Malia’s icy gaze pass over her. She huffed and turned towards Malia. “Look, we should just-”

Before Hayden could finish, Lydia shrieked as the sound of shattering glass broke the air and her mug exploded in her hand. There was a moment of stunned silence before Scott dived towards Malia shouting, “Get down!”

Lydia threw herself to the ground as bullets began to whip passed her ears. Before she had time to clear her head the kitchen descended into chaos. She could see Scott dragging Malia away from the window. She was screaming between gritted teeth, thick blood oozing from between her fingers where they gripped her thigh.

Lydia heard Liam howling Hayden’s name as the chimera sprang away from the door as the glass shattered there too. Liam pushed Hayden underneath the dining table and threw his body over hers.

Lydia couldn’t move. She crammed herself as far back into the corner of the kitchen as she could. Scott looked up from Malia long enough to see Lydia’s leg dart back underneath her as a bullet buried itself in the floor where her foot had been. He held a hand up towards her and Lydia could just make out the words, “Don’t move,” over the din.

Lydia opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of new gunfire mixing with the tinkling of shells falling around her. These shots came in rapid succession and they were loud cracks of sound, not muted by silencers like the others. Lydia didn’t consider herself a weaponry expert, but she thought they sounded like shotguns or a hand pistol.

There was shouting, hysteria and then, when she thought she couldn’t stand the noise any longer, silence. Lydia’s ears buzzed and she thought she could hear voices. She clicked her fingers experimentally in front of her and the sound hit her ear drums like she was underwater.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head as though the action might help to clear the fuzz between her ears. As she opened her eyes she felt two warm hands wrap themselves around her wrists and cool blue eyes fixed her own with a worried frown.

“Lydia? Can you stand up for me?” Sheriff Stilinski said gently but firmly as he tugged her wrists softly away from her head. She hadn’t realized she had knotted them in her hair.

She nodded and grabbed hold of his forearm for support as he helped her to her feet. As she rose she saw Chris Argent stride through the kitchen towards Malia as he swung what looked like a first aid kit off of his shoulder. Hayden was clinging to Liam’s arm as a shell-shocked Melissa examined a shard of glass protruding from the teenager’s shoulder. Melissa’s right hand was still wrapped tightly around an extended baton that Lydia knew would burst to life with electricity at the press of a button. Scott prized the weapon from her fingers as he enveloped her into a long hug.

Lydia’s eyes flickered up to meet Noah’s again as he twisted her head from side to side slowly as he inspected her for injuries. He sighed and pulled her into a one-armed embrace once he was satisfied that she was unhurt.

She leant into the familiar warmth and allowed herself to be soothed by the sweet cinnamon scent that she had always thought belonged to just Stiles. She had recently come to learn that it was a Stilinski smell. It smelt like home.

Lydia suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired and wanted nothing more than to just crawl into bed. She had barely spent a night at home since the last pack meeting and whilst Scott’s bed was comfortable enough it wasn’t hot chocolate at 3am with Stiles’ dad, or plaid pajama bottoms and red string.

“What happened?” she croaked as Noah released her.

He didn’t answer however, as Chris dug his tweezers deeper into Malia’s thigh. She grunted and shot him an indignant look.

“Hunters,” he growled over his shoulder as he wrenched the bullet from her leg. She was already beginning to heal, surged on by the pain. “An army of hunters.”

 


	12. Chapter Twelve

 

Lydia scraped the remnants of her dinner into the trash and set her plate next to the sink. She took a long, deep breath and rubbed her neck. It ached. Her whole body ached.

“You’re nervous,” Malia said suddenly, causing Lydia’s head to whip round. “Why are you nervous?”

Malia dipped her finger into a jar of peanut butter and surveyed it suspiciously before licking it clean. She chewed loudly and wrinkled her nose.

“Not a fan of the crunchy stuff?” Lydia quipped.

Malia ran her tongue along her teeth.

“It gets stuck in my fangs. Now answer the question.”

Lydia rolled her eyes.

“I’m not nervous,” Lydia said, hoping Malia believed her more than she believed herself.

Lydia could feel her heart beat beginning to betray her and decided to make a quick exit. She skirted around Malia as she reached for the peanut butter again like it might have smoothed itself since the last bite. Shooting her a look of disapproval, Lydia hurried towards the door. Her foot had only just crossed the threshold into the hallway when Malia spoke again.

“Do you want to talk about what happened in DC?”

Lydia froze in the doorway, too startled to go any further. She swung back around slowly. She felt her palms begin to sweat and her lips rolled together. She swallowed thickly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nothing happened in DC,” said Lydia. She knew as soon as the words were out that she didn’t sound as confident as she’d hoped.

Malia put down the peanut butter and took a step towards her.

Lowering her voice, she whispered, “Like ‘nothing’ nothing?”

Lydia opened her mouth to speak before closing it again and holding one finger up.

“Wait,” she hissed as she closed the kitchen door.

Malia hoisted herself up onto a bar stool and wedged one hand under her chin. She waited eagerly for Lydia to continue.

“It wasn’t ‘nothing’ exactly, it just wasn’t ‘something’ either.”

She bit her lip hesitantly.

“Okay,” said Malia slowly. “And?”

“And he’s _Stiles_. He’s Stiles that falls over his own feet and comes up with crazy plans that will probably get us all killed. And then we drive to another state and suddenly he’s Stiles, who walks around shirtless like it’s totally normal.”

Malia frowned. She leaned back against the breakfast bar and watched Lydia play with the ends of her hair anxiously.

“And you don’t like him shirtless?” Malia prompted but continued before Lydia could respond. “Is it the chest hair? Because I know it’s kind of weird looking, but he can shave. He’d definitely shave it for you.”

Lydia’s response was no more than a pointed look and Malia raised her hands.

“Okay, so it’s not the hair. So, did you guys… you know?” she hedged.

Lydia sighed. “No. It just never happened. Ever since we got him back I feel like loving him is so obvious, like I can’t believe I never realized before. I just forgot about all of the other stuff.”

Malia’s expression softened, and she gave Lydia a rare gentle smile.

“The other stuff is kind of important.”

“I know,” Lydia conceded, slumping into the stool beside Malia. “That’s the problem. I’ve never been with anyone where sex really means something, and I know it really means something to him.”

“And it doesn’t to you?”

Lydia propped her weary head up on her hand, using the counter to support herself.

“It’s never had to. I’ve never had to think about anyone else or what they want. He’s been waiting for this since the third grade and what if after all that time we're terrible at it and everything’s over before its even started?”

Malia considered this for a moment. Lydia sighed again and dropped her head back onto her hand. She wasn’t a stranger to the exhaustion that seemed to follow her around like a clingy black cat. The effect that the Anuk-Ite had on them all was beginning to show.

Lydia dreamt sometimes that they had imagined it all, that there was no unseen danger, no unknown monster lurking in the shadows. It was a pleasant dream, comforting even, in the early hours of the morning. It was usually as the sun was rising, however, that clarity returned with the harsh light of day. She often found herself rolling over sleepily to find the bed cold and empty beside her and the memory of bullets whipping passed her ears still on repeat in her head.

“Lydia?”

Lydia shook her head as Malia snapped her fingers under her nose. She hadn’t even realized that her eyes had fallen shut.

“Sorry,” Lydia mumbled.

Malia smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She frowned, her features set in a rare expression of understanding mixed with concern.

Lydia suspected that Malia was more perceptive than she gave her credit for. Like Scott, she relied heavily on her nose to decipher the emotional well being of the pack.

“It’s draining us,” Malia inferred simply. “The Anuk-Ite,” she clarified as an afterthought.

Lydia nodded and opened her mouth to agree but the words died on her lips as Malia’s back stiffened and her head whipped up towards the door. Lydia felt her stomach churn as muffled shouts of celebration followed by screams of protest drifted through from the living room. Malia and Lydia exchanged a look of consternation. Malia’s nose wrinkled as she caught a scent that she had hoped she would never smell again.

“Oh, he didn’t,” she growled before she wrenched open the kitchen door and stalked into the hallway.

She emerged into the living room with blood pounding in her ears and a string of expletives hanging ready on the tip of her tongue.

Liam and Hayden were hovering awkwardly at the end of a makeshift receiving line to greet the two bedraggled arrivals.

Mason and Corey beamed at each other as Scott buried his head in Stiles Stilinski’s shoulder. Malia’s heart jumped with relief as she took him in, her eyes scanning for signs of injury or distress. His hair was damp and slightly stuck to his forehead from the summer rain that drizzled outside. The shoulders of his flannel shirt were darkened by the downpour.

She caught his eyes for a second over Scott’s shoulder and offered him a small smile before her gaze slid right to the second figure that stood casually in the doorway. He stood with his shoulder pressed nonchalantly against the door frame. His eyes flashed when he saw her.

“Theo,” Malia ground out between her teeth, “You’re back. Again.”

Theo shrugged and stepped around Scott and Stiles, who were now clapping each other on the back and grinning goofily.

“Trust me, sweetheart, it was not part of the plan.”

Malia snarled low in her throat.

Stiles broke free from Scott’s hold and turned to Malia. He pressed his fist into the palm of his other hand, a nervous gesture, but his face, however, showed no signs of anxiety. He looked almost resentful.

“Theo had a run in with these hunters you seem so desperate not to tell me about,” he said accusingly to the room at large. They shot him a collective grimace of apology before Theo broke the silence.

“Well, we’re here now, but I think we’re going to need a few more claws if this is it.” He gestured around the room. “I mean, no offense, but _is_ this it?” 

Something seemed to flash in Stiles’ eyes as Theo raised his hands towards Malia passively. Her ears were pointed and sprouting fair, mousy hair.

Stiles spun in an exaggerated circle, limbs flailing until he found her, eyes wide, standing frozen in the doorway. He swallowed thickly, and he could feel his hands becoming restless. He was anxious to touch her, desperate to be anywhere near her when he had felt so far away for so long. Every time he sees her she is different. She always seemed to be so much _more_ than before. More beautiful, lips more full, hair more strawberry than blond now. Her fingernails were dug deep into her palms and her eyes were glassy. 

She blinked suddenly as she realized that they were now the only two people left in the room.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about any of this. Not a word. Not a single word.”

He’d barely finished when Lydia collided with him like a hurricane. Her hair was fire, burning flames into his neck as it fell around their faces. Her lips pressed insistently against his. Lydia felt the scream that had been lodged in her throat for over a month dissolve and she let out a soft whimper as Stiles’ fingers threaded themselves into her hair. His hands slipped down to her neck, pulling her closer. Lydia stretched onto her tip toes and pressed herself impossibly closer. Her fingers slid beneath the unbuttoned flannel shirt that she loved so much and fisted the back of his t-shirt.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured against his lips. “I’m sorry.”

She began to pull away, but Stiles only tugged her closer and buried his nose into her neck. He could feel her pulse humming beneath his lips. He could smell the sweetness of her perfume. And in that moment, despite ghost riders, suicidal motels, or even locker room floors, Stiles had never felt closer to her than he did then, on an unseasonably wet afternoon in Scott McCall’s living room. 

 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

 

Sunday’s were always the best day of the week. The sun always seemed to shine on a Sunday, regardless of the temperature outside. It bathed Jackson Whittemore’s bedroom in a hue so golden he felt like he'd awoken in an Egyptian tomb; a great pyramid from a Hollywood movie, dripping with luxurious precious metals and jewels, not the dusty home of Tutankhamun he had seen on a documentary the previous night.

He stretched languidly and rolled himself up in the cotton sheets. _Egyptian cotton_ , he thought ironically.

The bed was empty beside him but still warm. The trail of underwear and pajamas leading towards the bathroom door told him that Ethan was already preparing for the day.

Jackson had planned a thoroughly lazy day off, but Ethan had insisted the weather was going to be too warm to miss.

“ _It’ll be just like being back in California,”_ he had promised.

Jackson had reminded him that it rained more often than not in Beacon Hills.

From within the en suite Jackson could hear the shower curtain squeal as Ethan yanked it out of the way, followed by the gush of running water. He imagined him holding his toe under the spray experimentally before whipping it back with a shiver. Slowly, he eased himself out of bed, running a hand over his face as he blinked sleep out of his eyes.

He followed the path of Ethan’s clothes like a treasure map to the bathroom door. He paused with his hand on the handle and stretched his neck from side to side. He was rewarded with a satisfying crack.

Plumes of steam billowed in Jackson’s face as he cracked open the door and slipped inside. Ethan laughed softly when he heard the door click shut.

“Do you think I’ll ever get to shower alone?” he chuckled, rinsing shampoo out of his hair, bubbles running down the curve of his spine.

“No,” Jackson affirmed as he peeled the curtain aside and climbed into the shower behind Ethan.

“I thought,” his voice caught as Jackson’s hands ran over his hips, “that we could start with breakfast at Raison D’etre.” Jackson lathered soap into his hands and dropped the bar into the shower basket. His hands slid down Ethan’s chest. “And then,” Ethan cleared his throat, “a walk around…” he trailed off when Jackson’s lips found his neck.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Ethan protested. He spun around, wobbling slightly, and pulled Jackson under the flow of water. They held their breath as water cascaded over their faces and their lips melted together, moving in tandem with the soft dripping of water.

An hour later, washed, dried and fulfilled, they were squinting into the baking sun. Jackson knitted his fingers with Ethan’s as they strolled leisurely away from their apartment building.

“Shortcut?” Jackson asked, as he always did, even though they always took the shortcut.

It was only a cut down two alleys and a stealthy werewolf leap over a fence to cut almost ten minutes off of their journey. They always walked the long way home, savoring the afterglow of full stomachs and clasped hands.

Ethan tugged Jackson closer as they turned into Crick Alley. This too was a familiar pattern. Jackson had always thought that it was a response to the intimate privacy of the sheltered backstreet and smiled adoringly. In truth, Ethan did this to prevent him from tripping on an uneven flagstone. It was a secret he would take to his grave if it meant that Jackson kept smiling like that.

Ethan was startled from his reverie as Jackson’s hand squeezed tightly around his own. Two soft pumps. Pause. Another two.

They had tried to learn Morse Code to communicate silently, but had quickly abandoned the endeavor in favor of a simpler method.

Ethan focused his ears, immediately tuning into what Jackson had heard. There were two heartbeats in the alley, their own, he deduced. And two more, nervous, erratic and accompanied by the acrid scent of fear.

They continued to walk idly and Ethan commented on the weather casually as he drew two deliberate circles on the back of Jackson’s hand with his thumb. Pressure. One circle clockwise. Pressure. One circle counter clockwise.

The heartbeats grew louder, mingling with the hurried footsteps of their owners. Jackson groaned as they slowed to a halt and moaned, “I really liked these pants.”

Ethan laughed as his fangs burst forth so fast they cut into his bottom lip. He swung around and hunched low as a warning howl ripped from his throat. He was met by a boy no older than Jackson, his finger wrapped cautiously around the trigger of a gun so comically large for his hand Ethan couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from twitching.

Before the boy could pull the trigger, the gun disappeared into a whirlwind of green scales. Jackson’s eyes glowed as he stalked towards the boy. “I really, _really,_ liked these pants,” he ground out darkly as he flicked the gun against the wall with his tail. It shattered, falling a step in front of the girl that was their second assailant. A crossbow hung limply at her side as she gazed at Jackson with wide eyes. Around her neck, twisted into a pendant of flowers, she wore a twine of yellow wolfsbane.

Ethan stepped around Jackson as he dragged the young boy away and approached the girl carefully.

“They didn’t tell you he was part Kanima, did they? Or else you would have bought the right kind of wolfsbane,” he commented casually.

She shook her head slightly and took a step back. “You know about them?” She whispered it so quietly that Ethan knew he wouldn’t have heard it without his supernatural hearing. He wondered if that was her intention. Her eyes were scanning back and forth along the alley way as if she was searching for something.

“We know you’ve been tracking us for two weeks,” he sniffed and tilted his head, tongue wetting his lips slightly. “You wear the same perfume every day, it’s been giving you away. My brother had a girlfriend who wore that scent, I’d recognize it anywhere. Perhaps you’ve heard of her, is she on your list? A Banshee? You should hope you never do, hear her that is, if you want to keep your ears.”

The girl swallowed loudly before she dropped the crossbow and turned tail, chasing after the boy. He was limping away as fast as his newly broken leg would carry him.

Ethan shot Jackson a glare of disapproval.

“What?” Jackson exclaimed, his eyebrows raised. “He interrupted my breakfast and ripped my best pair of jeans!” Jackson twisted around to inspect the gaping hole in his pants. Ethan snickered as a flash of red underwear poked through the hole.

Ethan swiped at the blood running down his chin with his sleeve and raised it towards Jackson. “Home?”

“Home,” Jackson agreed as they turned away from the promise of black coffee and hot pancakes towards their apartment.

Jackson counted their steps. They were approximately two hundred and twenty-seven steps away from home. He knew this route like the back of his hand. It was because of this that he knew they had covered only forty-two steps before his Sunday was beyond salvaging.

Everything happened at once. Jackson’s hand slipped away from Ethan as it shot to his leg. He saw the dart buried in his thigh almost before he felt it. It began to burn in an agonizing shock of fire that tore its way through his veins until his whole body was scorched from within. As he fell to his knees, his vision began to swim with black spots. He dropped forwards onto his hands for support as the flames licked at his throat, suffocating him as he choked them back. Through the haze he could feel that his hands were wet, sticky with warm blood that pooled around him. Panic rose in his chest as he struggled to crawl towards Ethan. The blood became thicker, tinging the air around him with metal as he inched himself closer.

Jackson was blind, a hairsbreadth away from unconsciousness, but it didn’t dull the ache in his chest or quieten the agonized sob that slipped from his lips as his head fell onto Ethan’s heaving chest. Jackson’s grasp on reality slipped away as Ethan’s blood soaked into his hair and then, there was nothing but darkness.

 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

 

At first, Hayden thought that she’d imagined it all. She’d managed to convince herself that Liam was delusional when he said that they were all looking at them. She’d just about determined that Beacon Hills High School was still a place where their secret was safe. That was before Lucy Harrington had refused to sit next to her in Biology. Later that same day, Clark Burgess had all but choked on his lunch when she walked too close.

Now, as her back hit the cold metal of Gabe’s locker, his hands pushing down hard on her shoulders, she knew she couldn’t deny it any longer. The students of Beacon Hills were no longer innocent bystanders. They could no longer be satisfied by stories about mountain lions and freak accidents.

They knew.

It was that knowledge that held Hayden’s back straight as she allowed herself to be pressed harder against the lockers. She pretended to wince in pain as Gabe forced her head back against the door, but she knew he wasn’t strong enough to hurt her without a weapon.

“You think you can just walk around this school and we won’t come for you?” he hissed.

Hayden’s eyes scanned the corridor behind him for Liam, a teacher, any body that would help her escape into the boiler room before the fury coursing through her veins could force her to change. Despite what Scott might claim, Hayden knew that part of her soul was pure animal, and now, backed into a corner, it was this part of her that was desperate to break free. All of this she knew, but instead she said,

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What the hell are you doing?”

She tried to push against his chest to punctuate her words, but he was stronger than she had thought and she was eager not to use too much strength. Drawing more attention to herself wouldn’t help.

That didn’t mean she was drawing any attention already. The corridor was teaming with students. Most of them ignored her completely or pointedly turned their faces away from her. A few of them joined the small circle that had begun to form around Gabe, but Hayden could see that their eyes were alight with morbid satisfaction. They were spectators at her execution, Hayden realized. Witnesses to the death of her secret.

“We know what you are,” Gabe growled low in her ear. “We have a list, and we’re coming for all of you.” He paused and smirked. “Unless, of course, you can pass the test.”

His eyes were swimming with barely contained excitement, the thrill of the hunt. Hayden’s brows drew close in confusion. Her shoulders were beginning to ache and there was a padlock buried into her spine.

The animal was stirring.

“A test?” she ground out. “ _You_ attack _me_ in the hallway and _I’m_ the one who has to do some kind of test? I’m leaving,” she informed him coolly and finally shoved him aside.

Gabe stumbled backwards into the crowd that had formed around them. Hayden grabbed her bag roughly from the floor, dusted it off, and began to stride away. Her breaths came in heavy gasps as she fought to regain control of the claws beginning to grow from her fingertips.

She needed to tell Liam, to tell Scott what was happening. This wasn’t just about hunters. This was fear. This was what the Anuk-Ite was doing to them all.

Chaos and strife. Neighbor against neighbor.

The next few moments happened in such a whirlwind of movement that even Hayden’s heighten senses couldn’t prevent them. A rough hand caught hers and yanked her around harshly. She felt the bones in her hand almost splinter as Gabe crushed it against the locker that had once belonged to Stiles.

“Wait,” she had time to protest before a flash of silver emerged from Gabe’s sleeve and the length of a Swiss army knife disappeared into her palm.

The scream that ripped from Hayden’s throat lasted no more than a second before it was cut off by a blow to the chest that knocked the air from her lungs. Thick, crimson blood burst from the hole the blade left behind but she could feel it already beginning to heal.

Hayden swiped the blood away with her fingertips and wiped both hands on her jeans for good measure before turning her attention to the commotion happening around her. She knew immediately that the bloody hand prints she had smeared over her jeans didn’t matter anymore. They wouldn’t be returning to school when this was over.

The scene before her was a tableau of claws and teeth.

Liam, fully transformed and snarling struggled desperately against Scott’s arms that held firm around his shoulders. It was startling to see him completely changed in the one place they had always said they couldn’t. She had seen them all shift when the school was deserted at night, or hidden in the basement, but right now he was exposed. Hayden’s heart pounded a stampede against her ribs.

“Liam,” she croaked cautiously as she stepped forwards.

Liam barely registered her voice as he broke free of Scott’s hold and launched himself at a stricken Gabe. He lurched backwards, dropping the bloody knife, and fell over his own feet.

Liam crouched low as Gabe scrambled away. His legs seemed to have failed him and he reached out wildly for a hand to pull him to his feet. He was disappointed however as he glanced frantically around him to find the hallway littered with cowering students. Hayden noticed that many of those running away in panic were those who had stood to watch her fail her ‘test’ only moments ago.

“Liam,” Scott growled as he stepped between Gabe and Liam. His eyes were afire. “Liam, you can’t do this here. They’ve already seen you, if you hurt someone you’ll only make this worse.”

Liam responded with a single howl and a long scrape of his claws across the floor. Hayden and Scott flinched against the sound.

“Liam, please, let’s just go,” Hayden pleaded. She reached a hand out to place it on Liam’s shoulder but retreated again as Scott shot her a warning glance.

“You can shift back, Liam, or I can make you. The choice is yours.” Scott bent down until he was eye level with Liam. “What three things can not long be hidden?”

For a moment it seemed to be working and Hayden took a deep, calming breath as Liam recited,

“The sun. The moon. The truth.”

“Good. Again,” said Scott.

“The sun. The moon. The truth.”

“Again.”

“The sun. The moon. The truth!”

Hayden’s heart began to quicken as Liam’s breath began to burst from his mouth in ragged huffs.

“Scott, I don’t think it’s working. Scott!” Hayden exclaimed.

Liam sprang into the air, his legs propelling him higher as he launched himself over Scott towards Gabe. His feet never found the ground however as he crumpled sideways in the air and hurtled into a display case of old trophies.

The thud of cold metal against bone seemed to reverberate in the air as Stiles held a smooth cobalt blue bat in front of him and eyed it admiringly.

“Huh,” he grunted in approval and raised an eyebrow at Scott. “Seriously, every time I leave you guys alone the whole world falls apart.”

Lydia huffed behind him and rolled her eyes as she strode passed him with Hayden in tow. Lydia swept glass cautiously away from Liam’s face as Hayden pulled him to his feet. Stiles’ stomach clenched as he saw himself doing exactly that to Lydia, gently thumbing glass away from her eyes and mouth.

As Liam limped towards the door, Scott turned towards Gabe.

“We don’t want to hurt you. We just want peace.”

Gabe’s eyes were still wide with horror, but he had dragged himself to his feet. Scott hadn’t expected him to say anything in return, but it still hurt when he spat at his feet before stalking towards the locker room.

Scott’s face began to prickle as he felt another set of eyes on him and he locked his gaze with Tamora Monroe for no more than a second before he turned away and followed Stiles back to the Jeep.

 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

 

Scott pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and shook his head to try and shake some of the exhaustion he felt. He had barely slept in three days and he was sure his mother could see it on his face, beneath his eyes, because she was glancing worriedly at him from across the kitchen table. Her lips disappeared into her tea before she cradled the mug gingerly in her hands and they resumed their anxious pucker.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked hesitantly.

Scott shook his head as he swirled the dregs of his tea in the bottom of his mug. He reconsidered as Melissa let out a nervous sigh and Scott rubbed his neck.

“It’s just… I have this crazy plan. I don’t know if it will work and I’m pretty sure everyone’s going to hate it but I’m running out of ideas.” Scott looked up at his mother from beneath heavy lids. “I’m going to invite Gerard to a peace summit. I’m hoping that we can give him what he wants before he has the chance to track us all down, but if that doesn’t work and this becomes an all-out war then I have a backup plan. It’s just not a good one and to be honest, I don’t know if I can do it.”

Melissa considered this for a moment and took another sip of her tea before setting down her cup and reaching across the table. She slipped Scott’s hand into her own and squeezed.

“I’m only going to say this once, so you better hear it.” She lifted Scott’s chin with a finger until she was satisfied that he was listening. “You have made me prouder than any mother has a right to be. Now don’t get me wrong, I lie awake worrying about you every time you step out of that door, but you know what? I know you’ll always come home and if one day you don’t, it’ll be because you threw yourself in front of Stiles, or Lydia, or Malia or any one of those kids that you love so much. That’s just who you are. You’re a leader and a warrior and whilst that might be a mother’s worst nightmare, it doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re the most courageous young man I know. Now, if you think you can’t do something, I’m telling you, you can, because you, Scott McCall, you can do anything.”

Scott sniffed and placed his hand over Melissa’s.

“If my back up plan works I’m hoping I’m not going to have to jump in front of anyone, especially Stiles, I’m hoping Lydia can do that for me. I’m hoping she can bring him back.”

On reflection, Scott wasn’t sure whether he had heard the pack enter the house and ignored it or if they had become quieter over time, but it wasn’t until Stiles, Lydia, Malia, Liam and Mason were stood in the kitchen archway that he realized he and Melissa weren’t alone. Lydia’s eyes were squeezed shut and Malia’s brows were knitted together, and Scott knew that they had heard his words.

“Bring me back?” Stiles repeated as he stepped forwards towards Scott. “Bring me back from what, Scott?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Why didn’t you just tell me about all of this?”

Stiles lowered himself down onto the porch steps next to Lydia. Lydia rolled her eyes and shot him a tired look.

“And say what? I know we haven’t really talked about us yet but I can probably save your life, or not, it all depends on whether I love you enough. Would that have worked for you?”

Stiles considered this for a moment. He was sure that he should still be angry. He was certain that, yes, that would have worked for him. And yet, in between everything that she had said he’d heard only one small statement that really mattered.

He reached out and gently entwined his fingers with hers.

“What?” she said suspiciously as Stiles smiled to himself.

“So, you do love me.”

He wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question but there it was, out in the open.

Lydia pressed her lips together and watched as Stiles’ thumb traced smooth circles on the back of her hand.

“Maybe,” she admitted quietly.

Stiles’ smile grew wider and Lydia laughed, pulling his hand into her lap.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she warned.

They sat in silence for a while. Stiles wondered whether he should press Lydia for more information or leave her be. He thought she looked so peaceful gazing out into the garden, her face bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun. Finally, after a few more agonizing minutes, Stiles decided that he just couldn’t wait any longer.

“How exactly does this soul thing work?”

Lydia groaned.

“I hoped you’d forgotten about that,” she confessed.

“Not a chance.”

Stiles pulled her hand over onto his lap to turn her towards him. She went willingly but scowled up at him through her lashes as she dipped her head to avoid his eyes.

“It’s called a soul swap,” she explained. “A banshee scream is a signal of death, but it can also bring someone back to life. Just once. A soul can only exist on one spiritual plane at a time. The soul has to be either in a living host or in the afterlife.” She paused to make sure Stiles was still following. He nodded for her to continue. “If you died the scream would split both of our souls in half and merge the halves together. So, you would have half of my soul and half of your own. If I do it properly my soul, the living soul, will guide yours back into your body and you’ll live.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say. He’d loved Lydia Martin since the third grade and they’d been battling supernatural creatures together ever since he’d dragged Scott into the middle of the woods to look for a dead body. But even after all of that, bonding their souls together felt a little beyond their experience.

“And you’ll have half of mine.” Stiles clarified. “What the hell does that mean?”

Lydia shrugged her shoulders. “I have no idea. It’s like a blood type; you can’t just fuse two random souls together, they have to be compatible.”

“Like soulmates,” Stiles interjected.

“We can stop using that word,” Lydia blurted. She offered him a small apologetic smile when he slipped his hand unconsciously out of hers.

“Stiles, it’s experimental at best. I have no idea what I’m doing and if I can’t guide you back I could kill both of us. And once it’s done those souls act like their still part of a whole. If one of us dies so does the other and we’d have that hanging over us for the rest of our lives.”

Stiles blew out what little air he had left in his lungs. He shook his head in disbelief and tried to process everything he had been told since he came home.

“I guess we’d better kill this thing before it kills us,” he said, licking his lips and massaging the back of his neck. Lydia traced the spattering of moles that rippled across his skin with her eyes and watched how they dipped beneath the collar of his shirt. She shook her head and drew her lip between her teeth.

There was more, so much more that Lydia needed to tell him but she concluded it could wait. If they were going to war then she wanted to close her eyes, just for a moment, and pretend she was sat on the floor of the boy’s locker room crashing into Stiles with everything she had.

Lydia leant her head against Stiles’ shoulder, and that’s how Malia found them as the sun faded into darkness.

“Er, guys? Argent’s here,” Malia announced causing Lydia to shoot back on the steps so suddenly she collided with the hand rail.

She winced and rubbed at her head as Malia disappeared back into the house. Her hand stilled in her hair as Stiles laid his own over hers and stroked his fingers through a single strawberry blonde curl.

Lydia still couldn’t get used to this, the way he touched her so casually and yet with so much reverence. When he had been gone for so long, or when it felt like they were clinging onto life by their fingertips, she needed him so much. And yet in these quiet moments, when they were still discovering themselves together, she felt like tiny band aids were patching up the broken pieces of her mind. His thumbs swept across her cheeks and Lydia imagined them wiping away the parts of her soul that felt messy and muddled.

As he kissed his way lightly from her cheek to her lips and back again before pulling her into his lap, Lydia decided that perhaps if her soul was going to be messy with anybody, she’d be perfectly happy for it to be with Stiles Stilinski.

 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

 

Lydia huffed as Stiles snatched the flashlight out of her hands and pointedly shone it directly at the locker he was attempting to break into. He thrust it back into her hands when she raised her eyebrows at him.

“Okay, sorry,” he apologized as he backed away from the locker and raised his hands in surrender.

Lydia shone the beam of light in his eyes and couldn’t help the smirk that quirked her lips as Stiles recoiled with a shout.

“Thank you, very mature,” he quipped as she licked her lips to conceal her smile.

“The others will be here soon. I’m sure Liam and Hayden will know how to get into their own lockers.” She stretched onto her tip toes and placed the flashlight on top of the lockers. The rays of light it cast illuminated the hallway softly. “And Corey and Mason took their stuff this morning,” she finished sadly.

They had been clearing their belongings from the school all day. Liam and Hayden, no longer able to enter the school during the day, were the only ones left.

Stiles’ shadow danced in the torch light as he closed the space between himself and Lydia and pressed a small kiss to her temple before wrapping his arms around her. She slid her arms around his waist and nuzzled into his shoulder. She couldn’t see his face but always imagined him smiling to himself whenever they were this close. She knew that she did when he couldn’t see her.

Lydia wriggled herself closer drawing his hoodie into her small fists in case he decided to pull away. For a moment her mind was blank, the war raging outside completely forgotten, until a stray thought popped into her head and she pulled back.

“You’re not wearing flannel,” she stated in surprise as Stiles reluctantly drew away to meet her eyes in the dark.

He laughed quietly and said, “You know, I do own other clothes. You don’t even like the flannel.”

In the half light Lydia thought she saw a sad expression flit across his face but it was gone in a second.

“I don’t hate the flannel.” She had meant the words to come out confidently. Insistently, even, but his long fingers had found a home spread across her back as he toyed with the end of her braid. The moment was so tender, Lydia thought, that she was surprised she’d managed to speak at all.

Stiles didn’t seem deterred by the husk in her tone and his lips captured hers softly.

It was gentle again, the same as every kiss they’d shared since he returned home had been. When she’d kissed him for the second time in the boy’s locker room she had been so desperate to reach him, touch him, and prove that he was real. She was so ready to fall apart at his feet that she’d forgotten to really appreciate him.

Lydia had never considered what it would be like to finally kiss him casually, or briskly, languidly or passionately and everything else in-between. She’d never thought how it would feel to just be with him, without panic attacks or ghost riders.

Now she knew.

As she stretched up onto her tiptoes again, Lydia wound her arms around Stiles’ neck and twisted her fingers into his hair. She shimmied herself closer again and nudged playfully at his nose with her own as he tried to pull away. She shook her head so minutely that Stiles’ almost missed it in the dim light of the hallway.

This time when she pulled his lips back to hers she didn’t feel cautious or bewildered. She was confident, determined and somehow Stiles wasn’t surprised when he felt his back hit the wall of lockers behind them.

“You know, when I decided to come back to Beacon Hills, I didn’t sign up for this.” Theo’s voice broke through the sound of Lydia’s contented sigh.

Lydia cringed as she slipped her heels back onto the ground and slowly disentangled herself from Stiles. His cheeks were tinged pink from embarrassment or breathlessness. Lydia wasn’t sure which.

Lydia took a moment to compose herself before fixing her lips into a famous winning smile and swung around with her chin high.

“And what exactly was it that you signed up for?” she countered.

Theo only laughed and rubbed a hand over the stubble breaking through on his chin and cheeks.

“Banshees,” he chuckled to himself as Scott, Liam, Hayden and Malia rounded the corner behind him with rucksacks at the ready.

“Everybody's here,” Scott said brightly.

And hour later, Liam and Hayden’s lockers were empty shells and the pack made their way towards Stiles’ Jeep laden with heavy text books and Lacrosse gear. They had almost forgotten to clear the locker room and had already had to return to the school twice for some forgotten item or another.

It was on their third and final journey back to the Jeep that the night descended into what Scott would later look back on as the moment the tides finally turned.

No sooner had Liam loaded the last Lacrosse stick into the back of Stiles’ Jeep, the police radio that Stiles was certain he had switched off when they first pulled up earlier that night, crackled to life and Gerard’s gravelly timbre echoed across the parking lot.

“‘Blood and destruction shall be so in use,  
And dreadful objects so familiar,  
That mothers shall but smile when they behold  
Their infants quartered with the hands of war;  
All pity choked with custom of fell deeds:  
And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge,  
With Ate by his side come hot from hell,  
Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice.’

Do you know the rest, Scott? Do you know your Shakespeare?” Gerard asked calmly as Scott un-clipped the radio from its holster and held it to his lips.

Scott’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and shook his head tightly. He turned to Lydia as she let out a long breath. Scott could see in her eyes that he didn’t want to hear the last of the quote. He held the microphone out towards her, but she was frozen, her lips parted slightly.

Instead it was Stiles, who slid his hand over Lydia’s resting on his knee, that recited, “Cry ‘Havoc,’ and let slip the dogs of war.”

For a moment there was only the crackle of the radio in the air between them all.

“War indeed,” said Gerard finally. “Welcome back, Stiles. You must all be feeling rather nostalgic. Are you pleased with the little family reunion I’ve gathered around you, Scott?”

Scott swallowed thickly and gestured towards Stiles. Stiles held up the microphone and handed it back to Scott who raised it hesitantly to his mouth.

“Why don’t you come and join us so I can thank you in person?”

His challenge hung heavy in the air, but Gerard seemed un-phased as he continued. Malia’s hand drifted unconsciously into Scott’s as she dipped her head through the open door until they were all huddled closely around the radio. Theo mirrored her movements and leaned closer into Lydia’s side before shifting back when Stiles shot him a murderous scowl.

“I even have a few visitors for you… from London.”

The air seemed to cool inside the Jeep and Malia shivered. Lydia’s mouth fell open and her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes flickered quickly to Stiles who regarded her with a worried expression.

“Even someone like Jackson Whittemore couldn’t resist coming back to Beacon Hills. Say hello, Jackson,” Gerard ground out with relish.

The roar of anguish that followed made Lydia’s features fall into an involuntary wince that seemed to rack through her whole body. Stiles’ hand squeezed hers tighter.

Jackson was shouting unintelligibly.

Gerard chuckled. “Lost none of his charm, has he? You can find him here with us, at the armory, Scott. In fact, I’m going to tell you where to find them all. Which is why you will come to me. You’ll try to save as many of them as you can, and you might even save a few but your limited resources with be spread thin and ultimately you will fail.”

Scott’s breath whistled out between clenched teeth and his hand tightened around the microphone. Stiles reached out a hand without thinking as he heard the plastic begin to crack.

“The dogs of war, Scott, they’re coming for you. They’re coming for all of you.”

 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

 

Stiles felt Scott’s eyes on him as soon as he killed the engine and put the car into park. He licked his lips and leant back, his head lolling over the top of the seat.

“Are you sure about this?” Scott asked for the sixth time since they had left the animal clinic. “Because if you’re not we can find another way, another plan.”

“The plan is good, it’s just not completely safe,” replied Stiles defensively. He was the one who made the plans, the strategy man, and honestly, he had spent most of the past few days working on this one and it had still wound up being disastrous. He would never admit that to Scott though.

Stiles dragged himself out of the Jeep and ran his hand fondly over the faded paint job his dad had had done when they first bought it as he walked slowly around to the rear. Scott was quicker, and he was already walking toward the pile of boxes labeled ‘Argent Armories’ stacked up in the corner of Stiles’ garage.

“What did you tell your Dad about this?” asked Scott, nodding towards the boxes as Stiles popped open the back of the Jeep.

“Nothing,” Stiles shrugged. “I just gave Argent a key to the garage and told him to drop of the stuff this morning once Dad’s car was gone.”

Scott’s lip quirked and he shot Stiles a sad smile. “Lying to our parents; nothing ever really changes, does it?”

Stiles shook his head. “Technically, I withheld information,” he corrected and grabbed the box that was next to the one Scott was now sliding into the back of the Jeep. They continued in silence until Stiles hauled the last box of supplies into the back of his Jeep as Scott effortlessly slotted his heavier box onto the back seat and slammed the door shut behind him.

“ _Easy_ ,” Stiles admonished, wincing at the clang of metal on metal. “You’ll hurt him.”

Scott raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Sorry, but you should really get the seals on that door redone.”

“I’ll have you know that this Jeep is one of the finest of its kind in Beacon Hills County,” Stiles shot back indignantly as he carefully clicked the trunk closed. “See,” he gestured to the trunk. “Care and respect.”

Scott only nodded, smiling to himself as he perched on a cardboard box of books that had been relegated to the garage years ago. He thumbed the top of the box tenderly and wondered if this was the box of Stiles’ mom’s books, or his old textbooks. There had been so many boxes at one time that Scott couldn’t tell which was which anymore. Slowly they had all found their way to goodwill over the years.

“So, you asked Derek and Braeden to come back to Beacon Hills? How did that go?” asked Stiles as he crouched down and inspected the Jeep with squinted eyes. He breathed heavily on the paintwork and worked furiously at a small smudge with the sleeve of his plaid shirt.

Scott studied the way the fabric clung to him tightly, no longer drowning his frame like it used to. He was still lanky, but his muscles had become wiry and toned. Scott wondered exactly what kind of training he had really been doing at the FBI Academy.

Stiles eyed him curiously when he didn’t respond.

“Er, yeah, it went good. They said they’d do their best to be here.”

Stiles frowned. “They said they’ll ‘do their best’?” he deadpanned, leaning his arms on his legs as he settled himself on another box across from Scott.

“They’ll be here,” Scott amended confidently, although he didn’t feel confident at all.

Stiles nodded in agreement as Scott ran a worried hand roughly through his hair. Stiles couldn’t imagine how they had all survived whilst he was away. The pack was exhausted from the inside out and they haven’t even started fighting yet. Stiles was beginning to feel the same. The closer he had driven to Beacon Hills the more butterflies had erupted in his stomach. By the time he and Theo had reached Scott’s house he had been shaking and damp with sweat. Theo had said that he felt ‘restless’ and Stiles assumed that was Theo’s way of saying he felt utterly petrified for no obvious reason.

Stiles bit his lip and bounced one knee, his fingers drumming a rhythm on the side of the box beneath him. He couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Look,” he said as he began to speak, “I know I haven’t been-”

“I think I want to be with Malia.”

Stiles’ face shutdown immediately.

“What?” said Stiles shortly with wide eyes.

“I want to be with Malia and I think is she gave it half a chance she’d want to be with me too.”

Scott watched Stiles curiously. He wasn’t sure what kind of response he was expecting but knowing Stiles the way he did he wasn’t surprised much by the incredulous expression he was wearing now.

“How long have you felt like this?” croaked Stiles. He immediately cleared his throat when he heard how raspy his voice had become.

Scott frowned. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, only that now it had and all he could think about was how horrendously beautiful Malia was and, seriously, had her legs always been so long? Scott had asked himself this question so many times that he felt too bias to answer it.

“I don’t know. A while,” Scott said vaguely and leaned forward onto his knees.

Stiles’ face fell suddenly and Scott prepared himself for anger, disappointment or betrayal.

It never came.

Slowly, a small smile quirked the corner of Stiles’ lip and he chuckled to himself. He let out a long, relieved breath and smiled apologetically when he saw Scott frown again.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized before saying softly, “Scott, buddy, we are facing very real, very painful death,” he waved his hand towards the boxes of battle supplies piled into the back of his Jeep, “we have just concocted possibly the worst plan in the history of all plans that we have ever come up with, and my girlfriend will almost certainly kill us both slowly and horrifically if she ever hears a word of it, and you’re waiting around to ask me if you can make a move on Malia?”

By the time he had finished speaking, Stiles was looking at Scott like he had just announced that he was admitting himself to Eichen House.

Scott knitted his fingers together in his lap and looked up at Stiles through his lashes.

“And you’re okay with it?”

Scott was looking at him so earnestly that Stiles didn’t have the heart to make a joke. Instead he just laughed softly.

“Yeah, I’m okay with it,” he affirmed, holding both hands to his chest for a moment. “I’m good, Lydia’s good, we’re all good if we survive this week.” He looked unsure for a moment. “But dude, what Gerard said… I think we should all be scared. Not, like, Anuk-Ite scared – which by the way, we still don’t know anything about, including where it is or what it looks like – but genuinely scared. We all need to do what we need to do right now. Malia says what she thinks when she thinks it and if she’s holding out you, man, it’s because she’s confused. You’ve got to tell her how you feel and I’m pretty sure she’d prefer you did it before a load of hunters slaughter us all.”

Scott couldn’t respond with anything that he thought felt appropriate, so he simply nodded and smiled tightly. He hadn’t been able to muster a real smile since Stiles had shown up at his house this morning with a box of ear muffs and a suicidal plan that matched his own.

Scott wiped a hand over his face and moaned.

“This plan is insane,” he groaned despairingly.

Stiles nodded wearily. “Lydia is going to kill me.” He laughed gently but Scott knew deceiving Lydia was tearing Stiles apart.

Eventually Stiles pushed himself off his makeshift chair and drummed his fingers lightly over the back window of his Jeep.

“Well,” he said sadly, “it’s the only plan we’ve got.”

 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

 

Scott twisted his fingers together as Theo placed the last box on the coffee table in Lydia’s living room. Despite numerous pack meetings over the last month it had been almost impossible to gather everyone together in the same room. Now, Scott stood before almost his entire pack for what he thought felt like his confession before death. He eyed his mom, sat patiently, obliviously, waiting for him to relay the master plan that Scott and Stiles had devised to save them all. Except, Scott wasn’t sure if it would spare any of them in the end, and that was if it worked in the first place. Besides, he wasn't sure if they were going to believe him anyway.

As time passed and Scott’s silence lengthened, the pack began to exchange worried glances and whisper among themselves. Malia clambered over Liam and Hayden, their heads bent together conspiratorially, and nudged Scott with her elbow before positioning herself beside him in front of the curious faces looking up at them both.

Theo coughed and stretched, leaning over to a tense Chris Argent, whose knuckles were turning white as he crushed Melissa's hand in his own.

“This should be good,” he whispered and smiled when Melissa scowled.

Scott stepped forward and ran his hand across the top of the box in front of him. Carefully, he extended a single claw, and sliced through the tape holding the box closed. He reached into the box and pulled out the last thing he ever thought he’d be marching into battle with.

Liam was the first person to speak.

“Earmuffs?”

Malia rolled her eyes and Scott corrected, “Noise canceling earmuffs. Lydia's fighting with us and I don't need all of us dropping the minute she starts screaming, which given what I'm about to tell you, might be a lot. I'm don't want tomorrow to end in a fight,” Scott explained cautiously, “but if it does, we're going to end this war.” he paused and shot Malia a look of resignation. “And we're going to do that by using Lydia like a bomb. The thing is, to do that, Stiles is going to die.”

As the room erupted into a cacophony of outraged shouts and tears, Scott scanned them all, taking stock of his pack, burning their faces into his memory, he contemplated if this was already what waited for him on the other side of tomorrow.

Theo, snake.

Liam, Beta.

Hayden, teenager.

Cory, innocent.

Mason, human.

Melissa, Chris; broken.

And Lydia and Stiles…

Absent. 

 

* * *

 

Lydia hung her coat casually in the coat closet and reached out to take Stiles’ jacket. She hoped he didn’t notice the way her hand shook as she waited for him to shrug it off. She could feel his eyes on her back and shivered as the soft downy hairs down her neck stood on end. They'd barely had a moment alone since he'd come home and Lydia was painfully aware that their previous minute of freedom had ended with her shoving him against a locker.

“I can’t believe it's all over tomorrow,” Stiles sighed, and he stretched his neck.

Lydia let out a shuddering breath into the closet where he couldn’t see her and fixed her mouth into a winning smile as she closed the door. She turned around briskly and reached for his hand determinedly.

“It’s a rescue mission, Stiles, we’re not marching into battle,” she affirmed.

They both knew she was lying.

“Aren't we? Come on, Lydia-” Stiles began but Lydia cut him off and dropped his hand as she marched towards the stairs.

“We're going to save Jackson, and we’re all going to be fine,” she said confidently.

Her eyes were pools of hard steel and Stiles knew that any arguments he could think of would be futile in the end and so, as he often did with Lydia, he didn’t argue. Instead, he followed her obediently as she took his silence as surrender and continued to climb the stairs.

Stiles paused, however, after only a few steps as a flash of orange leaves and rainbow stripes caught his attention. He stared at the photograph, mouth parted in surprise, until Lydia padded gently back down the stairs and sat down a few steps above him. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth and rested her chin on top of her arms where had folded them over her knees.

Lydia watched Stiles shyly, all of her bravado gone, as he reached out gently and traced the curls of her hair in the picture hanging over the stairs. His fingertips hovered over the rainbow striped scarf peaking out from beneath her yellow raincoat.

“You wore it,” he breathed, finally turning to see her waiting patiently for him on the step. His hand fell absently back to his side.

Lydia nodded gently into her arms.

“It matched my coat,” she lied but her heart wasn’t in it.

He chuckled softly.

“No, it didn’t,” he said simply, and Lydia knew she had been caught already.

She reached out for his hand more tenderly than before and ran her fingertips over the curve of his knuckles and the jagged skin around his nails. She had already told him twice to stop biting them when he was nervous. She could almost feel him buzzing with energy to bite them now. Slowly she lifted his hand to her lips and placed a small, light kiss on the inside of his wrist. He was alive, safe, if only for one night, and his pulse hummed in agreement against her lips.

“Sometimes there are things you wouldn’t think would be a good combination that turn out to be a perfect combination. You bought me a scarf for my birthday when I didn’t even know when yours was, and I wore it because my mother hated it.” She rolled her lips together guiltily as Stiles settled himself down on his knees below her. “But I kept it because even in the eighth grade you were the only person that ever gave me something and didn’t expect anything back.”

Stiles swallowed thickly and opened his mouth as if he was about to speak before closing it again. He reached out a hand to steady them against the banister as he wound the other around Lydia’s hips and pulled her awkwardly into his lap. Lydia felt like they were falling for a moment before she felt his lips meet hers firmly and she remembered to grab hold of the rail with him.

They fumbled clumsily and gasped surprised giggles into each other’s necks as they struggled to steady themselves. Lydia’s head fell onto Stiles’ shoulder as he kicked her in the thigh for the second time.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered as his lips grazed the curve of her neck to her ear. She made a small noise of content in the back of her throat. The carpet was burning her knees, but she didn’t care, she could barely feel it. She could barely feel anything but the pressure of Stiles' long fingers snaking over her hips and legs, holding her firmly, and his lips burning a trail of fire down her neck. Lydia felt her lips moving but she was hardly aware that she’d spoken until Stiles pulled away from her suddenly and she whined at the loss of his body against hers.

“What?” he rasped. His eyes were wide, and Lydia could feel his heart beating rapidly beneath her palm. The way his pupils were still dilated and his lips bloomed cherry red from her lipstick seemed to bring her head back into focus. They had both waited so long for her to say it and now she chastised herself for letting it out by accident.

“I love you,” Lydia murmured, almost to herself before her eyes flicked up to meet Stiles’ own. “I love you.”

There was nothing else to say as Lydia prized herself away from Stiles. He wrapped his hand around the one that she offered and pushed himself to his feet. They said nothing as he led her upstairs, wordlessly closing Lydia’s bedroom door behind them. No sooner had he clicked the door shut did he feel her behind him, waiting for his attention patiently like she was a performer in a show awaiting his applause. As he turned, he sucked in a steadying breath, but it was no use. No amount of waiting, longing, or calming breaths would ever prepare Stiles Stilinski, who had dedicated his life to the ten-year plan entitled ‘Lydia Martin’, to the sight of her, _thee_ Lydia Martin peeling her sweater away from her body and letting it fall to the ground at his feet.

Lydia watched in nervous fascination as Stiles seemed to deflate against the door. Stiles Stilinski. He was the last person she ever expected to be inviting into her bedroom to watch her undress but somehow now it felt like the only logical thing to do and Lydia always did what was logical. Her skin felt cold without his hands running over it. She felt unbalanced without his body pressed firmly against hers. She wanted desperately to be in his arms again, felt the need burn through her like wildfire, but he looked so sanctified, his chest rising and falling steadily, eyes filled with reverence that she couldn't bring herself to disturb him.

Lydia raised her chin gently and to her surprise Stiles understood in only that look what she wanted. She had never seen him so still, so unshakable. His fingers didn’t fidget as he gripped the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it swiftly over his head to join Lydia’s sweater on the floor.

“Finally,” Lydia said softly. “I thought we were all going to have to spend the rest of our lives watching Scott take off his clothes.”

Her attempt at a joke seemed to remind Stiles that she was still just Lydia, his Lydia, and in less than two strides he had crossed the room. His lips captured hers with a passion that Lydia knew only came from years of waiting. She was embarrassed that Stiles was just now living the moment he had dreamed about for most of his life and she was only now allowing him to do so. She wished she was the first. The first to hold his hand in the sandbox. The first to kiss him in the playground behind the playhouse. The first to watch him fall apart after making out in the back of his Jeep. The first to see him like this.

Would everything have been different if she’d just thanked him for the scarf?

He didn’t seem to notice her whisper her gratitude into his chest as her back hit the bed, his hand pillowed under her head. Lydia kissed Stiles fervently as her hands ran up his arms to twist her fingers in his hair. It was slightly longer than it had been before he left for D.C. and Lydia decided she liked it. She liked the way it felt between her fingertips. She liked the curve of his nose and the way it tickled her skin as it skimmed across her collar bone and nudged the straps of her bra aside, so he could place fluttering kisses over her shoulder. The bra itself didn’t last long after that.

Stiles barely noticed when Lydia slipped out of her skirt. He couldn’t even remember removing his jeans. He was positive, however, that there was no calamity, supernatural or otherwise, for the rest of his life that would ever erase the memory of Lydia whispering his name as they moved together, two parts of the same whole. Soulmates.

 

 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

 

 

Stiles was destroyed. Obliterated. Completely and utterly ruined and it was because of Lydia Martin. She was currently drumming her fingers nervously on the dashboard as she leaned over him to peer through the windscreen. Stiles' was fighting against the urge to be sick when Lydia groaned and fell back into her seat.

 

“Where are they? They should be here by now,” she complained, inspecting her mascara in the drop down mirror.

 

Stiles nodded and shrugged casually. His deception weighed so heavy on his shoulders that the movement felt exhausting. It had been easy enough to forget what he was about to do to her when they were wrapped up together under her silk sheets. Now, sat in her car just outside of Argent Munitions, he felt like he could think of little else.

 

Should he just tell her? Would she be angry? _Hey Lydia, so we were hoping that if things get heated you could just drop everyone with one of those soul swapping screams? Shake on it?_

 

“They'll be here soon,” he said instead.

 

Lydia snapped the mirror back up and ran a hand anxiously through her hair.

 

“Lydia, all we have to do is get in, find Jackson, and get out. The others will do the rest. It's going to be fine,” said Stiles reassuringly. He swallowed the lump rising in his throat.

 

He reached out to slide his hand into hers but she drew it away as she pressed herself against the window again.

 

“They're here.”

 

Lydia pushed herself out of the car and began striding towards Scott as he emerged from Stiles' Jeep. Stiles let out a resigned sigh and followed, locking the car over his shoulder. As the rest of the pack began to arrive, Stiles could feel their eyes burning holes in his chest and he thanked any God that was listening that Lydia wasn't a werewolf. She was intuitive, but at least she couldn't smell his guilt like the others.

 

Scott nodded firmly and Stiles nodded back. This was the final moment of confirmation. The plan was set.

 

“The plan is simple. Mason and Corey will stay here on the radio in case we need to call for back up. Parrish is standing by. I'll be with Malia, Liam and Hayden. We'll distract the hunters so Lydia and Stiles can find Jackson, and Chris will go after Gerard. We all meet back here,” Scott finished and pointed to the ground. “Right here. All of us.”

 

The pack nodded in unison but Lydia was frowning.

 

“Where's Theo?” Lydia asked suspiciously when it became apparent that no one else would be joining them.

 

Chris huffed and Scott grimaced.

 

“He's at the hospital with Melissa and the Sheriff,” said Chris through gritted teeth.

 

Scott ran a hand over his face. “Gerard was right. Without Derek and Braedon our resources won't stretch. We're outnumbered, outgunned and we can't win this battle by throwing people away. This isn't a game of numbers, it's about keeping everyone alive for as long as possible so we're all just going to have to trust each other. My Mom can handle herself.”

 

He didn't look convinced but Lydia seemed satisfied and she shrugged. Stiles tried to memorise her face, the way that she had looked this morning. Sleepy, smiling and softer than he ever knew she could be. He wondered if he'd ever see her like that again. If they all died today at least he wouldn't have to see the ice in her eyes when she realised what he had done. If they lived, if the part of the plan that Scott hadn't told her, the missing link that they all knew except her, he doubted she would ever let him touch her again. It was an impossible choice and yet he had made it.

 

Chris reached into the back of his jeans, withdrew his gun and positioned himself ready to fire at any moment.

 

“It's time.”

 

On his command the pack divided. Malia slid her fingers inconspicuously through Scott's as they disappeared across the parking lot. Stiles squeezed Lydia's hand as they waited patiently for their signal. They didn't need to ask, Mason and Corey retreated into the Jeep to give them all privacy.

 

“You've been quiet this morning,” Lydia noted as she leant back against the hood of the Jeep.

 

Stiles nodded and gave her his best crooked smirk. “Maybe I'm just tired, I was up all night” he teased and Lydia rolled her eyes.

 

“We're walking into a armoury full of weapons and people that want to kill us and you're thinking about sex,” she admonished and shook her head. Stiles smiled because, despite everything, she was laughing to herself and that smile would carry him through to the end of the day.

 

They didn't speak after that, just stood in companionable silence until Mason cracked open the door and craned his neck out of the Jeep.

 

“Guys, I think that's your cue.”

 

Lydia sighed and nodded her thanks. She smiled wanly at Stiles before she began to make her way towards the parking lot. She considered skirting between the haphazardly parked cars but eventually decided that if the parking lot wasn't safe then they wouldn't have much luck once they were in the building, and that was the whole point of the distraction, wasn't it?

 

Stiles appeared beside her a moment later and she reached down blindly to take his hand. Instead of warm, long fingers however she found cold, smooth metal. She jumped away and rounded on Stiles with wide eyes. She expected to find him walking nervously towards her, the gun hanging limply in his hands but what she found instead was a Stiles she had never seen before. He was hunched slightly, his body turned to one side. He held the gun she had felt in both hand in front of him, aimed at the ground. He was watching her with careful, guarded eyes and his lips pressed together in a tight line.

 

Lydia swallowed thickly. “What are you doing?” she half whispered between her teeth. She stepped forward until the gun was pressed gently against her abdomen and her face was inches from his. Stiles let the weapon fall to his side and stepped back. As he turned to continue their walk to across the parking lot he said over his shoulder,

 

“I don't have claws or banshee powers, Lydia, did you honestly think Scott would let us go alone with only you to do all of the fighting?”

 

What he didn't say was that of course he wouldn't risk Lydia waging war alone. She was the key to the whole operation and she didn't even know it.

 

“Shit.”

 

The curse sounded so absurd slipping from Lydia's lips that Stiles wasn't sure whether to laugh or admonish her. Her eyes flickered from the gun in Stiles' hand to his eyes.

 

“We have to go, Lydia,” Stiles said carefully, wrapping both hands around the gun again.

 

Lydia followed him wordlessly as they broke into the armoury through the side door Chris had shown them on the building's blueprints that morning. They weaved through the building, systematically checking doors and corners before moving onto the next. They faced a remarkably small amount of resistance until Lydia stumbled into Stiles' back as he came to a halt outside a small storeroom. Carefully Stiles' reached behind him and guided Lydia around the corner until they were both hidden from view. In the room ahead they could count four guards, each armed with what Stiles confirmed in a whisper to be assault rifles.

 

“I'll take these three at the front and you can-”

 

Stiles was cut off by Lydia rolling her eyes and stepping out from behind him into view. He stretched out to reach for her but she danced away until she was leaning in the doorway, one hand settled on her hip.

 

“Hello, boys,” she said by way of a greeting and then, she screamed.

 

Stiles slammed both hands over his ears and watched in horror as the four guards did the same but they were too close to Lydia and she was directing all of her energy their way. One by one they fell, blood seeping from between their fingers.

 

Stiles' stomach twisted itself into an agonising knot as the scream died on Lydia's lips and she placed her hands on her knees to suck in deep, ragged breaths. _This is what they'll all look like,_ Stiles thought as Lydia turned around and nodded towards the door that the men were guarding.

 

“Coming?” she asked sweetly.

 


	20. Chapter Twenty

 

 

Ethan stretched lethargically as he tried to straighten his legs. As they had the last twenty times he had tried, his feet hit the bars of his cage before he could straighten his knees. He growled in frustration and shook uselessly at the bars until he was gasping in breaths of the wolfsbane filtering in through the air vents. Not enough to kill him, just enough to keep him from healing. He was caged like a dog, too weak to shift and escape.

 

He let out a hopeless breath and closed his eyes. He had just allowed himself to fall into a resigned slumber when the ghost of a scream flooded through the crack beneath the door that held him captive. Then, the door began to shake.

 

One. Two. Three. The door quaked and muffled voices cried out with each thud on the other side. Finally, with the fourth thump, the door exploded inwards with a deafening creak and Stiles fell over the threshold, clutching his shoulder and swearing profusely.

 

Lydia pushed him aside and her eyes widened as she took in the occupants of the room. Ethan wasn't sure but he thought he saw something fade in her eyes.

 

“Not who you were looking for?” he surmised as Stiles seemed to come to his senses and began hammering at the padlock holding Ethan's cage secure with the butt of his gun.

 

“No offence, but no, you're not who we were looking for,” Stiles affirmed and winced as the padlock shattered.

 

Ethan scrambled an arm over each of their shoulders as they hauled him to his feet.

 

“We need to find Jackson,” Ethan croaked as they dragged him passed the guards and into a larger storage area. The exertion of moving caused him to pant slightly, like an overheated mutt. He grimaced at the irony.

 

“You know we're here for Jackson?” said Stiles in surprise as they lowered Ethan down onto a stack of wooden pallets to catch his breath. Away from the wolfsbane he could feel his muscles beginning to strengthen and his mind focused.

 

“Who else would you be breaking into an armoury full of hunters for?”

 

Lydia raised an eyebrow at Stiles and he shrugged as he offered Ethan a hand which he waved away with a sardonic smile.

 

“I'm fine. Let's go. We need to find him before the hunters find us,” Ethan ground out. Lydia shook her head at Stiles and gave him a look that said, _don't argue_ , when she noted the obvious distress in Ethan's eyes.

 

As it happened, Jackson found them. He was announced by a long, whipping tail that missed Stiles' nose by an inch as it lashed out, only to spring back and send three hunters hurtling towards the ceiling. Jackson spun around towards them, crouched low, as the three bodies rained back down around him.

 

He span around in a slow circle before raising his hands and saying, “Would you believe me if I said it was self defence?”

 

Ethan replied by merely shaking his head, stepping over a twisted body and enveloping Jackson in a hug so tender that Lydia and Stiles exchanged a look of confusion and shock.

 

“Oh. My. God,” said Lydia slowly as Ethan and Jackson disentangled themselves. There was a heavy pause and Jackson looked unsure whether he wanted to hold her or run away. Finally, Lydia rolled her lips together and said with a matter of fact tone, “We thought you'd never figure it out.”

 

It took Jackson less than two long strides to cover the distance between himself and a smug, smiling Lydia. He wrapped his arms tightly around her small frame. His hands roamed over her back and he dipped his nose into her shoulder to inhale the familiar scent of her perfume. She was real and here, right in front of him.

 

“Okay, alright, that's nice,” he could hear Stiles babbling behind them but he didn't care. She was real.

 

Lydia clutched onto Jackson with all of the energy she had left. She hadn't known how it would feel to see him again. She thought she might still be angry, or sad, or embarrassed that he would finally see the real her, the real Lydia.

 

“Alright, not too close. Watch the hands.”

 

Instead she felt validated. Marcel had asked if she wanted to be the one saving people, not just finding them once they were dead, and now she had found someone. She had found him, alive, fighting. She hadn't lost him too.

 

Two steady hands landed on her shoulders and she pulled away breathlessly. Her eyes were alive with excitement and Jackson's expression matched her own. Relief.

 

“Okay! Alright, just break that up,” Stiles announced loudly as he pulled them apart and Lydia hung her head slightly before throwing him an unapologetic smile.

 

Stiles shook his head and turned to face them all, pulling his gun out of the back of his jeans where he'd holstered it earlier. Lydia clicked her tongue when Jackson gave him an impressed smirk.

 

“Right, well, why don't we all get out of here, huh?” And with that he was heading towards the door.

 

They reunited with the others in the parking lot. Chris scowled when they emerged together and he holstered his gun.

 

“Gerard?” Stiles asked but he thought he already knew the answer. There weren't nearly enough hunters and Chris' expression spoke volumes.

 

“He's not here.” Chris cursed and turned to Lydia. “Everyone okay?” She nodded as the pack realised they had been joined by a fourth member.

 

“Ethan? What are you-”

 

The rumble of engines broke the silence around them and the pack spun around to see a collection of six black SUV's pulling into the lot like a pack of hounds.

 

The dogs of war.

 

Stiles chuckled to himself ironically as he observed them all standing shell-shocked at the arrival of this new enemy. They looked like the Goonies, or the Scooby Doo gang, meddling kids standing off against machine guns. It was ludicrous to think that they could ever win against these hunters, a pure force of nature waging war on teenagers.

 

Stiles mused that maybe the reason his heart was hammering against his ribcage was because this was the moment he'd been dreading since he left Lydia in bed this morning to shower alone. He was ashamed to admit that he'd used the flow of scalding water to pretend he wasn't crying.

 

Scott was eyeing him carefully and Stiles knew he was thinking the same, that this moment had come too soon.

 

Stiles could still feel Scott's eyes on him as Gerard, Monroe and almost thirty loaded hunters spilled out of the SUV's and the air cracked with the thunder of gun fire.

 

He could hear Lydia screaming his name as they dispersed and dived behind parked cars, but he couldn't see her. His head whipped around frantically, searching for the faintest glimmer of red but she was gone.

 

“Lydia,” he shouted over the noise. “Lydia!”

 

There was silence for a moment. Reload. In a flurry of movement he saw Chris jump up from behind the car beside him. He fired, over and over, emptying his gun in the direction of their attackers. Stiles could hear Gerard calmly issuing orders through the numbness that was settling in his ears.

 

Chris fell back behind the car, a small beat up Chevy, and pulled a fresh magazine out of his pocket. He nodded as he threw one across to Stiles, who let it land by his feet as he sprang up himself, blood pounding in his ears.

 

He told himself to imagine that they weren't people, they were just targets. This was just target practice, no different from the trials at the academy. This was all part of his training.

 

It didn't feel like training though when he saw Lydia watching him with wide doe eyes, sheltered behind the car in front of his own. He could see it in her eyes, as the first recoil shuddered up his arm, that he was forever changed in her mind. He would never be just Stiles stumbling over his words again. He would never be just the boy begging for her life, shoving his body between Lydia and Peter's snarling teeth.

 

He was the Stiles she'd never realised she was seeing. The one commanding her to listen to only him. The boy ordering her to get up off her cute little ass and dance. The one stepping into a pool of gasoline to save his best friend.

 

He was Stiles Stilinski, the one who always figured it out, and she was Lydia Martin, and as far as Lydia cared, that meant that they were going to be okay, because, weren't they always?

 


	21. Chapter Twenty One

 

 

_Lydia fell back against her favourite silk pillows, laughing and gasping in little breaths as her chest heaved. She bit her lip seductively when she saw Stiles slide down beside her. He shook his head and laughed at her before he buried his face in her pillows for moment and rolled onto his back._

 

_He reached over absent-mindedly and traced haphazard patterns on her thigh. Lydia sighed contentedly and threaded a hand in his hair, massaging gently._

 

“ _I've been ignoring you since the third grade. I thought I was supposed to be the intelligent one,” Lydia mused as she stretched luxuriously._

 

_Stiles laughed and rolled back onto his stomach, swapping his hands to draw circles on her stomach, tracing sadly over the scars that marred her skin._

 

“ _It's okay,” he assured her with a tilt of his head, “I'm not sure I had the stamina to keep up with you back then,” he quipped and shunted away quickly when she swatted at him playfully. He caught her fingers in the air and wrapped them around his own. “I've done a lot of running since then.”_

 

_He had meant it to sound like a joke but he couldn't help the bittersweet taint to his voice._

 

_Lydia eased herself down the bed and rolled onto her side. She trailed her free hand through his hair down to his jaw and lifted his head to meet her eyes._

 

“ _We can run together now, or fight together,” she said confidently and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. She wanted him to believe her but sometimes he looked so fragile and scarred that she wasn't sure whether they really could survive any of the horrors being thrown at them. She felt guilty to think that she'd once mistaken his vulnerability for cowardice. She'd been so wrong about him. He was a survivor._

 

_She licked her top lip nervously as she drew away. She knew it was one of her tells, she could see it in his eyes but he didn't say anything, only smiled and nudged his nose against hers before kissing her again._

 

_She had kissed him more in the last hour than in all the years she had known him. Kisses that led to fits of giggles. Kisses that trailed down her neck and across her stomach and still down again. She was raw, exposed and completely in love for the first time and sometimes when he pulled away it hurt more Peter's teeth, or Valeck drilling a hole in her skull._

 

 

Lydia covered her ears with her hands and slid back down against the car. Scott's arms were wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

 

“What are you doing?” she screamed over the sound of bullets hitting metal. “I can help.”

 

Scott shook his head behind her and pressed them firmly against the car that sheltered them.

 

“You need to save your strength. I can't protect you if you're unconscious because you tried to help too much,” Scott said firmly against her ear.

 

She struggled again as Stiles emerged from behind his shield and he spared her a wistful glance before letting off three quick shots and diving behind the car again.

 

Scott dragged her back against his chest insistently and twisted her around to face him.

 

“Lydia, look at me,” he said quietly. He knew she could hear him. Gerard and the hunters were quiet again. Scott wondered if they would run out of ammunition before the pack did. He doubted it.

 

Lydia kept her gaze on the ground resolutely until Scott raised his voice and shouted sternly, “Lydia, look at me!”

 

Her eyes shot up, alive with fire and Scott let go of her shoulders. He took hold of her head firmly, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of her cheeks. She tried to wriggle away but he held her firm.

 

“Lydia, just stay still, okay? Can you do that?” His eyes flashed red. She nodded obediently between his hands. “Look, I just... I'm sorry, okay? I need you to just wait for a second because something is about to happen that we didn't tell you about and I'm so sorry, Lydia. Christ, we're both so sorry.”

 

Lydia's heart skipped, stuttered and then, she felt like it had almost stopped.

 

“What are you talking about?” Lydia whispered. She wasn't sure if even his werewolf hearing could make out what she was saying but he was watching her lips intently and he seemed to understand. Scott's eyes were glassy and as a single tear dripped down his cheek Lydia could hear nothing but thick silence and their breath mingling together. They were in a bubble, or underwater, either way she felt like she was suffocating. A scream, like nothing she had ever felt before, was clawing it's way up her throat. She almost gagged.

 

A strangled shout pulled her back to reality. First she saw the flash of quad bikes hurtling across the parking lot. Braedon, Theo and Derek. The latter two sprang from their bikes in motion, throwing themselves towards the hunters with teeth bared. Derek landed at Gerard's feet, fully transformed and feral.

 

The shout however, was what caused Lydia to rise quietly from behind the car. She could hear bullets whipping passed her ears, slicing through the air rapidly but she didn't care. From beside Corey and Mason, who were hanging out of Stiles' Jeep, emerged a slew of cop cars, and at their helm, Jordan Parrish. For a second, Lydia thought they were saved, until she saw Sheriff Stilinski sinking slowly to his knees, mouth open and tears streaming from his eyes.

 

Parrish leaped off of his motorcycle as it ground to a halt in the dirt and rushed forwards to wrestle what looked like earmuffs over the Sheriff's ears. It was now that she realised they were all wearing them. Parrish. The Deputies. All of them.

 

Odd, Lydia thought. She looked down at Scott for reassurance but she was met with the sight of him staggering back against the car door, his cheeks wet and a matching set of earmuffs pinned to his head.

 

“I'm sorry,” he mouthed and Lydia followed his eyes to behind her, where Stiles was looking back at her as he gently placed his gun down on the ground and kicked it away from himself.

 

Lydia wanted to run, shout and throw up all at once but she couldn't move. She was frozen next to the car that had sheltered her as Stiles turned away from her and walked into the no man's land that lay between the safety of the pack and the line of hunters.

 

Braeden clutched at her stomach, crouched protectively over Derek, who was still a wolf with thick, crimson blood matting his fur.

 

There was a moment of serene calm where Lydia couldn't even remember her own name and then Gerard smiled a crooked, half smile at her before lowering his hand.

 

Lydia's hands hit the rough ground with a scraping thud as cracks of bullets bursting from firearms erupted around her again but they had only one target.

 

She couldn't scream, only choke and clutch at her throat as Stiles stumbled back.

 

He had thought that it would hurt more, being shot. He'd thought he would be able to feel the metal slicing through muscle and bone, rupturing internal organs as it lodged itself somewhere in his body. The first bullet felt like a heart break, a sharp stabbing agony. The second was merely a scratch compared to the look on Lydia's face. The third, the fourth, and the fifth; he didn't even feel them. Stiles only knew they were even there because he watched each new wound bloom red with fascination as his legs gave out beneath him. His knees hit the ground with a sickening crunch and he wondered absently if he'd cracked a knee cap.

 

He wondered whether it would work. Whether their plan would unfold and unfurl and work as they so often didn't. Maybe this one was just crazy enough to work.

 

He could see bullets flying like shooting stars over his head and wondered if they were being fired from weapons held by friends or foes. He prayed it wasn't the latter.

 

Any moment now, he thought, any moment now and it will all be over.

 

And then she was there. Strands of fire fell around his face and salty tears dripped onto his lips. She was sobbing and he wished he could tell her how much he had meant it, how beautiful she really was when she cried. He didn't want her to cry though, he wanted her to scream.

 

“It's perfect,” Stiles whispered and coughed, blood staining his lips cherry red.

 

Lydia heaved and mumbled, “No, no, no...” over and over again as her hands wiped frantically over his chest. She could almost feel his hands on her hips, warm fingers pressing into her back, her lipstick smudged over his lips like his blood was now.

 

“Lydia, scream.” Stiles summoned any life left in his body and tucked a curtain of hair behind her ear. “Lydia, I need you to scream.”

 


	22. Chapter Twenty Three

 

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,_

_You make me happy when skies are grey._

_You'll never know dear, how much I love you._

_Please don't take my sunshine away._

 

 

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine._

 

Lydia hummed gently to herself as she scanned gingerly over the sticky menu in her hands.

 

“If you order a salad I might have to reconsider my ten year plan,” Stiles informed her matter-of-factly and slid his own menu to one side.

 

Lydia dropped hers on top of his and leant back against the faded plastic of the booth they had sequestered themselves into at Lydia's request. She may have walked around the woods naked for three days at one point but she still had enough dignity left to not allow herself to be seen in a diner of all places.

 

She shot him a sardonic smile and raised an eyebrow.

 

“I'm less likely to get food poisoning from a salad,” Lydia shot back, eyeing the open kitchen and peeling wallpaper.

 

Stiles slid his milkshake across the table. At first, she ignored it, pointedly allowing her eyes to trail over his shoulders, taking him in, reminding herself that he was really there. After a moment she sighed and dipped a finger into the frothy whipped cream beginning to collapse into the milkshake and rolled her lips together before licking her finger clean.

 

Stiles swallowed thickly as she slid the milkshake back towards him.

 

“So, you're giving Scott the Jeep?” Lydia asked conversationally as she drummed her fingers gently against the table top.

 

Stiles took a long sip of his strawberry shake before pushing it aside and knitting his fingers together on the table.

 

“Yeah, Scott said his dorm is like a twenty minute drive away from the campus where he's doing his practical study,” he paused to consider, “or was it his lecture hall? I don't know, anyway he'll need it more than me.”

 

Lydia smiled and took a sip of her water. “Well at least I won't have to worry about Roscoe making it all the way to DC,” she quipped.

 

Stiles leant back in his seat, aghast.

 

“Roscoe is perfectly safe, if not fully serviced. That Jeep's ferried you around often enough. It's been like Driving Miss Daisy for the last two years.”

 

Lydia pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and smiled coyly.

 

“I think what we should take from that is that I've _allowed_ you to drive me around for the last two years, I'd say that's progress,” teased Lydia. 

 

She hoped he wouldn't notice the way that she stretched casually, allowing her arm to fall nonchalantly across the table, hand open. All he needed to do was reach across and touch her and she would know it wasn't all in her head.

 

Stiles wet his lips hesitantly and slowly ran his fingertip over her palm. Lydia felt fire licking at her neck and dipped her head so that he wouldn't see her flush.

 

“I thought you kissing me in the boys locker room was progress,” Stiles said gently, leaning over the table slightly. “Twice,” he added cheekily when he saw her smirk to herself.

 

Lydia rolled her lips together nervously and her eyes flickered up to meet his.

 

“I thought twice was a coincidence,” she challenged quietly before pulling away and resting back into her seat. “We'd have to do it at least once more to make a pattern.”

 

Before Stiles could reply they were interrupted by a slim blonde waitress with a flip pad and a bored expression. As Lydia ordered a cheeseburger with a winning smile and a wink at Stiles she could have sworn she heard him whisper something about “I'll show you a pattern,” and “this woman is going to kill me.”

 

 

_You make me happy when skies are grey._

 

Stiles stretched wearily over to his bedside table and switched on the small fan Lydia had installed on his first day.

 

“It's the first day of summer, Stiles. I don't want you to over heat,” she had stated matter of factly whilst simultaneous laying a blanket over the end of his bed. She'd smoothed it down with a smile and shrugged. “I don't want you to get cold either.”

 

He sighed quietly as waves of cool air wafted over his neck, soothing the sweat that stuck his t-shirt to his chest. Beside him, Lydia began to stir.

 

Stiles ran a hand over his face and twisted around to see her already beginning to sit up sleepily.

 

“Hey, go back to sleep,” Stiles whispered as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

 

Lydia ran her hand soothingly over his shoulder and rubbed her eyes tiredly.

 

“What's wrong?” she asked softly, dipping her head to rest her forehead against his arm and placing a soft kiss over the sleeve of his shirt.

 

“Nothing, just a bad dream.” Stiles smiled and nudged at her hair with his nose. She smelled like strawberry's and cinnamon and something else that he could just never place. Something distinctly Lydia.

 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” she said as she raised her head and rested her chin on Stiles' shoulder. 

 

She was looking at him in the same way she always did. She seemed slightly confused, incredibly thoughtful and just the smallest amount besotted.

 

Lydia pressed her lips together shyly as Stiles pressed his against her forehead.

 

“You know,” he said suddenly, “I had a dream like this once. Well, it was kind of a dream. When the er,” he paused and sucked in a deep, calming breath, “when the Nogitsune was trying to...whatever. I had this hallucination where we woke up in bed just like this and it was only when I realised that you weren't supposed to be there that I knew it wasn't real.” Stiles wet his lips nervously. “Sometimes it still feels like that.”

 

His last words made Lydia's heart ache and she settled herself back down against his pillows, dragging him down with her. She reached across him and switched the fan off. She waited for the whirring to fade before resting her head down on Stiles' shoulder.

 

“There is nowhere else that I'm supposed to be,” she murmured into the crook of his neck.

 

 

_You'll never know dear, how much I love you._

 

“So, do you want to talk about it or...” Stiles trailed off as Lydia pursed her lips and stared resolutely out of the bedroom window. She was sat with her legs curled up to her chest, a blanket wrapped snugly around her shoulders in the cramped bay window of Stiles' dorm room. Summer rain spattered gently against the window and Lydia shivered despite the small fan heater Stiles had propped up on the desk for her.

 

He handed her another towel wordlessly and she squeezed moodily at her hair. It hung in dripping tendrils around her face from the rain and Stiles wondered whether he should maybe offer to dry it for her. He decided against it and sank down onto the small bed he and Lydia had been sharing for the past few days since she had driven him down to DC.

 

“Lydia, come on, will you just talk to me,” Stiles moaned from the bed as he leant forward on his knees.

 

Lydia rolled her eyes and threw her towel over to Stiles' desk chair. It landed with a thud on the floor around two feet off target. She huffed and folded her arms around herself.

 

“I just don't know why you thought that that would be okay,” Lydia thought aloud. She swung her legs off of the windowsill and turned around to face him. Stiles expected to find cold steel in her eyes but in reality he thought she looked cautious and guarded like she might run away if he got too close.

 

“We were soaked, Lydia, I didn't think it would be a big deal. I thought...” he trailed off and ran a hand roughly through his hair. “I don't know. I thought we were like together now.”

 

Lydia shot him a look of surprise, like the idea that maybe they weren't hadn't even crossed her mind.

 

“We are. I just wasn't aware that meant we were taking our clothes off now. Did you think about how that might make me feel?” Lydia licked her lips anxiously as Stiles' eyes widened incredulously. The truth was she didn't know how she felt. She loved him, there was no question there but did she want him the way that he wanted her? “I'm just saying maybe if you'd asked first it wouldn't have felt like you were expecting something.” 

 

Stiles chuckled sarcastically and shook his head. She was delusional, he thought, beautiful and completely delusional.

 

“Expecting something? Why would I be expecting anything from you, Lydia? It's not like you've exactly shown an interest in... anything.” He stood up and began to pace back and forth in front of her. She tracked his movements with steady eyes, watched the way his muscles rippled beneath his t-shirt. He actually was beautiful, in the most unconventional way and yes, maybe she had missed it at first. “I mean, would you have asked me before you took your clothes off? I wasn't naked, Lydia, but you,” he waved a hand helplessly, “you could strip down to nothing and you wouldn't have to say a word because you know that's exactly what I want. Well, I don't know what you want, Lydia.”

 

Stiles stopped pacing when Lydia sniffed and swallowed thickly. He was right. She had been parading herself around like some kind of prize that he had won at the fair. In the meantime, he had been doubting her, maybe not that that she loved him, but that she wanted him. She was used to feeling want between her legs, not in her gut, or in the way a shiver rippled down her spine when he whispered her name.

 

“Stiles, I-” she began but he cut her off with a sigh and grabbed his jacket from the bed.

 

“Look, I'm starving, I'm going to go get something to eat. Maybe, we both just need time to think because needing you just isn't enough any more. I need you to need me too.”

 

Lydia had barely opened her mouth to protest before she was watching the door slam shut behind him.

 

 

 

_Please don't take my sunshine away._

 

Lydia was going to be sick. She could feel it burning her lungs, bile rising like a flood up her throat and spilling into her mouth with a taste so bitter that she just couldn't swallow it down any more.

 

When she opened her mouth however, nothing came, only a choke and then the light.

 

Somewhere in the back of her mind she could see herself sitting cross legged on the floor in her grandmothers living room, eyes glued to the television.

 

“Oh, look, Lydia, you look just like her,” her grandmother had said affectionately as she placed two bubbling glasses of lemonade down on the table beside her. “But your twice as beautiful, of course,” she had corrected herself as Ursula reached out into the golden light that crept up Ariel's throat and stole her voice away as she sang. Lydia had shook her head and said that Ariel was the most beautiful Princess she had seen and that one day she would grow up to be a mermaid too.

 

It was this long forgotten Lydia that now idly thought she probably looked more like a princess from a Grimm's Brothers fairytale.

 

When the scream she had been holding unwittingly for months finally came she was a screaming banshee not a beautiful mermaid. Her hair was aflame, whipping dangerously around her as her voice ricocheted off of anything and everything around her. Stiles face, his hair, his chest caked in blood, were the only things not consumed in a light so bright Lydia felt like she was being engulfed by the sun.

 

Her throat was raw and scratchy as cry after scream after cry forced itself passed her lips into the air like Ariel herself.

 

There was no evil sea queen to come and steal away her misery however, only heat and heartbreak and a pounding in her head that felt like it might tear her apart. And all the while she clung to Stiles' t-shirt for dear life because it felt like she would shatter if she didn't.

 

When the scream eventually died on Lydia's lips she could no longer feel the ground beneath her, or hear anything but her own lungs struggling for breath and the sound of her heart hammering in her ears. It was just her, and Stiles floating on a cloud of light and air.

 

They were transcendent. Luminous and beautiful and for a moment Stiles was there, alive. There was no pain, no pleasure, no understanding. There was only light and as she watched Stiles' eyes flutter open and he sucked in a surprised breath beneath her, Lydia delighted in being completely and utterly... nothing.

 


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

 

 

_Be careful, that scream will knock out anyone within a three mile radius of her._

 

That was what Marcel had said as Scott and Lydia stumbled out of the laundrette and looking back on it now, with tears soaking into Malia's shirt, Scott thought that it was almost like he knew. He knew somehow that both Scott and Stiles would be this recklessly stupid to think that they could win.

 

He could feel Malia's gasping into his neck. “She isn't screaming, Scott. Why isn't she screaming?” she sobbed, panic making her voice shake.

 

When Scott didn't move she realised he couldn't hear her. She pulled away and reached towards his earmuffs to remove them now that they had failed but he jolted away from her frowning and mouthing wordlessly.

 

“I don't know what to do,” Scott said again but she was shaking her head, just as stunned as he was. They were unable to move or speak, even think.

 

Before he could try to say anything more they were thrown into the air, surrounded by brilliant white light. Malia landed beneath Scott, his knee jabbing uncomfortably into her ribs as they threw their arms around each other. Scott squeezed his eyes shut against the blinding light and scrambled to protect Malia's body as the windows of the cars they had used to shield themselves shattered, and filled the air with glittering shards of glass. They lay huddled together on the ground, humans and super naturals alike, as the debris rained down heavily over them all.

 

Scott grunted as shard after shard buried itself in his back, slicing through his t-shirt. It was only when Malia began to writhe and growl beneath him that he opened his eyes and crawled off of her. She lay shuddering with gritted teeth and her hands clasped over her ears. Her earmuffs lay crushed beside her, twisted beneath a pile of fallen rubble from the explosion.

 

Scott clapped his hands over Malia's to draw them away from her head but she cried out and kicked him away. Scott shunted away as the force behind him began to fade and like a jolt of electricity, clarity hit him.

 

Blood, deep crimson and metallic seeped between Malia's fingers.

 

She was screaming. Lydia was screaming and Malia could hear all of it.

 

Without thinking, Scott ripped his own earmuffs away from his ears to place over Malia's but he found the air mercifully silent, the last of the light fading until it was almost dark. For a moment he clutched Malia's hand with relief, before fear like he'd never experienced before began to pool in his stomach. It ripped away at his insides like ice, shuddering through his core and crept up his throat. He wretched into the rough concrete beneath him.

 

He felt cold sweat break out over his body and then, with a final jolt of agonising panic, darkness.

 

* * *

 

The next time Lydia opened her eyes the hunters were gone. Instead of concrete beneath her she found flawless white tiles. Her hands left behind bloody prints as she pushed herself to her feet. As she rose, she was blinded again by white lights and raised a hand to shade her face. The metallic scent of blood hit her nose like smelling salts and she looked down at her hands as if she was only just noticing they were there. They were almost dripping with blood, cool and beginning to crust beneath her fingernails.

 

Slowly, Lydia lowered her hands and turned around to find the rest of the pack struggling to their feet. Their faces and arms were almost black and littered with bleeding cuts and bruises.

 

Theo walked aimlessly in a circle trying to explain the expansive white room they found themselves in. Jackson, Scott and Malia eyed each other cautiously before turning towards Lydia with apprehensive expressions.

 

Stiles rubbed curiously at his chest and it took Lydia a moment to realize that he shouldn’t be here with them, wherever here was.

 

In a rush, the moments before she had lost consciousness came back to her and she looked down at the blood beginning to dry on her hands again. She let out a soft whimper that drew Stiles eyes away from his chest and violent tremors rippled through her body.

 

She heard the scream that ripped from her throat before she even knew it was coming. Her hands flew to her ears as millions of screams filled her head at once, overlapping each other until all she could hear was ringing. She felt almost ripped apart, exposed, not luxuriously as she had felt the night before but raw and bare. She felt like every nerve was on fire.

 

Lydia couldn't say whether she was still screaming or not above the noise that was cracking its way through her skull. And then, as quickly as it had started, everything grew quiet and Lydia found herself on her knees, rocking gently to the rhythm of her heart pounding in her ears. Jackson had one of his hands on her knee and he was saying her name softly. Scott, she realized, had taken off his shirt and was using it to wipe gently over her hands.

 

Lydia’s stomach churned as she ran her eyes around the room to find blood leaking from the werewolves’ ears.

 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, almost delirious. “I just…” she trailed off as her gaze fell on Stiles.

 

He stood watching her carefully with panicked eyes. Under normal circumstances Lydia might have laughed at him. Teased him, maybe. He was regarding her cautiously, like she was a snake in a basket, ready to strike at any moment. And, oh, she was.

 

“You,” Lydia spat, jabbing a finger at him. “What the hell did you think you were doing? Are we all dead? Because I swear on all that is holy, Stiles Stilinski, that if we're not dead, I am going to kill you.”

 

Stiles licked his lips hesitant and raised a hand to her like he might a wild animal.

 

“Lydia, just listen for a minute,” he began but she was already reaching out for Scott’s arm to stand.

 

“Lydia,” Scott cautioned as he helped her to her feet.

 

His protests fell on deaf ears, however, as Lydia had already broken free of his hold and was heading towards Stiles with eyes like thunder.

 

And then she was hitting him. Wildly. Madly. Frantically. She was hitting him like he might disappear at any moment and she would be denied the right to hit him any more. He took it, over and over again until eventually she was only a crumpled mess of tears and wild hair in his arms. She sagged against him when her legs couldn’t hold her any more.

 

“I will never forgive you,” she whispered between chokes as she buried her head into Stiles’ shoulder.

 

Stiles let her words strike him harder than she had. Her quiet fury was more painful than any blow she could muster with her fists.

 

“We were losing,” Stiles whispered into her hair, trying to soothe her.

 

“No,” Lydia croaked louder and pushed herself away from Stiles. She staggered back on her heels, and wondered absent-mindedly why she'd even chosen to wear them in the first place. “No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to make that decision for us – for me! How could you do that to me? Did you even think, for one second, what this means for us? And you!” She turned wildly on Scott with so much venom in her voice that he almost felt her words like a sting. “How dare you?”

 

Scott shook his head slowly, unsure what to say that might calm her.

 

In the end it was Jackson that broke the silence hanging between them and whilst Theo seemed to appreciate his attempt to ease the tension, Lydia spared him only a frigid glare when he said,

 

“So, you two, huh? That's... interesting.”

 

Theo scoffed. “Yeah, apparently they're soulmate, or something like that.”

 

Lydia huffed and folded her arms. “Yes, well,” she said primly, briskly wiping tears from her cheeks, “maybe we were.”

 

“Lydia,” Stiles mumbled earnestly. He reached out a hand for her but she dodged away as she strode out into the expanse of white tiles and stark walls. She wrapped her arms protectively around her waist and straightened her skirt. She shoved Stiles into a tiny box in her mind and placed it on the highest shelf she could find.

 

“Now, where the hell are we and where is everyone else?”

 


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

 

 

Scott circled the room behind Lydia slowly, taking in smooth white walls and open space. There was something about the place that he just couldn't quite reach, like a memory long forgotten, but it settled between his ears like a hum over the soft clack of Lydia's heels.

 

Stiles scratched the back of his neck, span around in an exaggerated circle and came to a halt with his eyes fixed wearily on the centre of the room. He would have wondered how he had not seen the hulking tree stump the first time but the answer was simple; it wasn't there before. As Stiles stepped closer, the Nemeton seemed to quiver gently and he felt a familiar pull in his stomach, the darkness the Nogitsune had left behind uttered a pang of longing.

 

“I don't think we're anywhere, Lydia.” Stiles remarked solemnly as he stepped up onto the Nemeton and sat down with his legs crossed. He shuddered, almost certain that any moment now the Nogitsune would appear before him with a metallic smile and another game to play.

 

As Stiles settled himself down on the wooden stump he saw Scott's eyes widen, followed by the others as they took in the Nemeton for the first time. Jackson especially circled Stiles suspiciously before he said,

 

“Does anyone want to explain this to me?”

 

Malia stepped forwards and ran her hand curiously over the Nemeton's rings before backing away slowly, her head whipping back and forth as the lights around them flickered ominously.

 

As Jackson looked around at them all expectantly, Lydia came to stand by his side. She was serene with glassy eyes and pale skin, entranced by the Nemeton as she often was when it appeared to them.

 

“It's called the Nemeton,” Malia said simply as Lydia placed a hand on the stump to steady herself as she climbed up next to Stiles and lowered herself down on her knees opposite him. She could feel the wood beginning to shudder ever so slightly beneath her palms. “Beacon Hill's is called a beacon for a reason,” Malia finished cryptically.   
  


Theo shook his head and smiled innocently. Scott had learnt not to trust Theo's smiles unless his life depended on it, which unfortunately, more often that not, it did.

 

“What they're trying to say is that the Nememon is like a lighthouse for supernaturals and these guys – our heroic warriors – are the ones who lit the torch.”

 

“Yeah, man, well at least none of us murdered our entire family,” Stiles shot back, gesticulating at the rest of the pack before mumbling, “Sorry,” under his breath when Malia coughed uncomfortably.

 

Jackson and Lydia exchanged an eye roll and Scott bowed his head with exhaustion.

 

“Look, we don't have time for this,” said Malia finally. “We need to figure out how to get the hell we out of here and considering we don't know where here is, I say we do it fast.”

 

Scott nodded. “She's right,” he agreed, distracted. “Wait, didn't Ethan tell you any of this?” he asked Jackson, waving a hand around the pack.

 

Jackson shrugged. “Some things. Hey, high five on getting possessed by an evil fox by the way. I bet Ms Martin was just thrilled when Lydia bought you home,” he dead panned, shooting Stiles a quick thumbs up.

 

Lydia licked her lips and exchanged a knowing glance with Scott.

 

“Actually, she wasn't. Now, can we move on to where we are again?”

 

She knew she didn't have to say it. She knew that she had said it out of spite but there was something about the way that Stiles was watching her with red rimmed eyes that made Lydia's chest tighten for a moment. He was broken, maybe more so than she had ever seen him, despite retaining his composure on the outside. She could see it in his eyes, almost feel his guilt and his pain coursing through her. She shivered when Stiles tore his eyes from her and settled on Scott.

 

“Like I said, I don't think we're anywhere. This is where you found me with the Nogitsune, right? That was in my head, Scott. Maybe this is just all in my head, or your head, or all of our heads. Either way I think we can agree that none of this is actually real. I mean, I don't even know if I'm...” Stiles trailed off, his eyes flicking back to Lydia who sagged slightly and hugged her arms around herself.

 

“Alive,” she finished for him. “I think you are. I mean, I don't know, I feel like I'd know if you weren't.” Lydia picked agitatedly at the hem of her shirt and looked up at Stiles through her lashes. “God, Stiles, I can't believe you did this,” Lydia cried, throwing her arms up. She shook her head and let them fall heavily into her lap again. “The only reason I think you're alive is because I can feel you. I can literally feel you inside me.”

 

Jackson choked and took a step back. Theo's brows knitted together.

 

“Wait, what?” Jackson almost laughed as Malia pursed her lips.

 

“She didn't mean it like that,” Malia replied curtly when Lydia's cheeks bloomed pink and Stiles began to study his hands like they were the most interesting thing he had seen in his life. “Can we discuss what you two sharing a soul or whatever is like when we get ourselves out of here?”

 

Malia's eyes were becoming wide and doe-like. She twitched nervously as the lights flashed again. Scott reached out and entwined his fingers with hers. His thumbs ran soothing circles over the back of her hand.

 

Theo let out a long breath and bit the end of his thumb thoughtfully.

 

“I guess,” he said after a moment, “we should just start by trying all of the doors then.”

 

The pack raised their heads in unisons with slackened jaws. Theo's eyes swept over them all as they frantically canvases the stark white walls to find that he was right. They were surrounded by doors of a multitude of colours. Lydia thought she vaguely recognised a few of them but she couldn't place how until she hauled herself carefully up from her place on the Nematon and drew closer to a white washed door closest to her. In small neat, pink letters she read a name that made her pulse thrum rapidly under her skin. Lydia Martin.

 

“This is my bedroom door,” she said dreamily, brushing her fingertips over the clean painted letters her father had glued to the door when she was nine years old. She walked cautiously over to the door to her right and ran her eyes over the dark wood. From a distance it wouldn't seem to have any identifiable qualities but if Lydia squinted closely she knew she would see a small splinter of wood where the door had been chipped. She also knew that if she had a magnifying glass she would be able to see small specks of blood and fibres from her sweater. She knew because she had snagged herself on it several times over the past year.

 

“Stiles,” she called nervously over her shoulder but he was already there, regarding the door curiously.

 

Lydia turned to tell the others what she had found but found them scattered around the room, each gazing oddly at a door of their own.

 

“What do you think is on the other side?” Scott shouted hopefully from across the room.

 

Lydia raised a hand and lightly pressed her fingertips against the fading wood. Whispers, hushed but plentiful, began to lick at the corners of her mind and Lydia knew that if she just stepped closer, if she just pressed her ear to the door then she would be able to hear them better. She didn't.

 

“I don't know, but I don't think it's our bedrooms,” Stiles suggested ominously as Lydia shot him a worried looks and shook her head surreptitiously. “I guess we had better find out before we end up trapped in here for the rest of our lives.”

 


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

Stiles couldn't shake the feeling that he'd forgotten something. It hovered at the edge of his thoughts and then vanished whenever he tried to just reach out and touch it. His father had always said that the brain was vast, sprawling warehouse and all he needed to do was send someone away to find the memory he wanted. Stiles wasn't sure that this had ever worked for him. He'd always replied that his mind was more like a chaotic library and the librarian definitely wasn't using the Dewey Decimal system. 

Around him he could see only trees, thick and heavy with moss. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remember that moss meant water nearby, or at least that was what the survival documentary his father had forced him to watch before their first camping trip had said. 

The ground crunched under his sneakers as he followed the boot worn path through the woods until he could hear water rushing and smell the fresh scent of damp earth. In a rush the memory of this place came back to him and for a moment he smiled, because for once his frail, ancient librarian had actually found what he was looking for. 

He had been here before with Lydia. When she had first brought him here she said it was a secret place that he wasn't allowed to tell anyone else about. She told him that he was the only boy she would ever bring here, but now, as he clambered over the low wall that separated the woods from the slope down to the river, he could see that she had lied. 

As Stiles slid closer to a jut of rock hanging over the river, Lydia threw her head back and let out a tinkling laugh. Stiles marvelled at the way it seemed to compose a melody with the rustling of the trees and the gushing water. 

She placed a hand lightly on Jackson's shoulder and pushed him away lightly when he leaned over to nip at her ear with his teeth. He snuggled closer to Lydia on the rock and pulled her into the crook of his shoulder confidently. 

Stiles' breath left his lungs in an audible whoosh and his hands began to shake with jealousy. He ran a hand over his face in the hope that when he opened his eyes again he would be waking up in his own bed beneath a swirl of strawberry blond hair. 

He wondered if this was what dying felt like as Lydia pulled Jackson's lower lip into her mouth, giggling low in her throat seductively. He decided this was akin to drowning. He struggled to suck in slow, deep breaths but all he could feel was pressure crushing his lungs into lumps of useless flesh. 

Stiles guessed he'd been frozen in place for little over a minute before the fog in his head began to clear. Something tugged insistently at the back of his mind, like a fly he just couldn't swat away. It was almost with this realisation that an icy, paralysing ache began to seep deep into his bones, stabbing at his heart, until finally there was nothing but peaceful quiet, earth beneath his knees and Lydia's hands fisting Jackson's hair in her tiny palms. 

He'd always known it would be this way. It was only a matter of time before she became bored with him. Lydia Martin was a glowing beacon of hope that even the most average of men might have a chance to know her. Stiles knew he had already been luckier than most. Perhaps his memories of her were all he was ever destined to keep of her. How many men could say they truly knew her? He had glimpsed the inner workings of Lydia's mind and he knew he couldn't possibly deserve more. 

He was weak, neurotic at times, clumsy and lanky, and distinctly un-Jackson-like. He would never be good enough.

“They're just stunning together, don't you think?” 

Stiles head whipped up as Jackson and Lydia dissolved into the air. Instead, reclining languidly where they had been entwined was a figure Stiles prayed he was imagining. 

“No,” he whispered softly, “no, no, you can't be here. You can't be here!” Stiles finally shouted as the man smirked and climbed somewhat awkwardly to his feet. 

His eyes were rimmed with dark crimson circles like he hadn't slept in days and his cheeks were pale and grey. He rubbed hastily at the gently upturn of his nose and studied the blood that smeared the back of his hand curiously. 

“You're starting to remember, Stiles. That's good. The fear always seems to taste sweeter once they start to remember.” 

Stiles stumbled as the ground began to quake beneath his feet, softly at first and then more violently until he was forced to clutch onto a tree to keep himself upright. The wind whistled through the branches and tugged at Stiles shirt. 

The Nogitsune took a shuddering step forward, blood seeping between his lips. He dropped to one knee and retched hoarsely before his eyes met Stiles' again. 

“I wasn't sure if you'd really do it, you know,” the Nogitsune rasped, “but once I got inside your head you seemed perfectly happy to offer yourself up as a sacrifice for the cause. Scott was a surprise, too. Saint Scott - the true Alpha - willing to let his brother die for what? A small victory?” 

Stiles shook his head slowly, blood pounding in his ears. 

“It was your idea?” he asked simply. 

He wished he sounded braver but all that came out was a choked whimper. 

“Take away the mortar and the whole wall falls down. Scott might be the Alpha but you're the one holding the pack together, Stiles. Unfortunately, The Banshee proved to be more of a challenge. She just wasn't willing to let you go. I guess I should have known she would have saved you somehow.” 

The Nogitsune spat, crimson staining the earth. 

Stiles considered whether he might be able to kill him whilst he was like this. He was weakening by the second but the thread that had been tugging at his mind began to unravel and soon Stiles saw the Notisune for what he was; an illusion. 

“You're not real,” Stiles murmured to himself. “None of this is real.” 

No sooner had the words passed his lips, the forest began to melt. The leaves became dark paint, streaming down upon a canvas of tree trunks and crunching dirt. The Nogitsune disappeared into a swirl of ashen smoke.

Stiles turned and ran as trees began to fall in all directions, crashing to the ground in a symphony of splintering wood. The creaking whoosh as they fell was deafening around him. For a second he was aware of a tree branch swinging towards him and then there was nothing but darkness. 

When Stiles woke again he could hear Lydia arguing frantically with Scott as her fingers raked gently through his hair. 

“He'll wake up when he's ready, Scott,” she was saying sternly.

Stiles opened his eyes slowly to find her hair pooled over his chest and her wide eyes watching his every move. Lydia let out a long breath of relief and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. He could feel the weight lifting from her chest as if it were his own. Or perhaps it was? They were one in the same now. 

“You okay there, buddy?” Scott asked cautiously when Stiles pushed himself to his feet with Lydia's help. 

Stiles shook his head as if to wake himself fully and Lydia slipped her hand into his reassuringly. Through the heat of her palm against his Stiles thought he could feel a simmering anger seeping into his veins but as she held on tight he decided it was drowned out by a pulsing longing to forgive him. 

“It was the Anuk-Ite, he got inside our head. The plan, the sacrifice, the war. It's all him and this place,” Stiles gestured around them, “I think he created it. It said the fear tastes better when you start to remember that it's not real. He wants the fear, he's feeding off it.” 

“So every time we go through the doors he gets stronger?” surmised Theo. 

“Not necessarily. When I started to remember it was like the whole world collapsed and he started dying. I mean, blood everywhere... it was actually kind of horrifying,” Stiles trailed off. 

“Look, do you know how we get out of here or not?” Jackson asked impatiently. 

Stiles shook his head but it was Lydia who answered. 

“What if it's like a test? We conquer the fear, weaken him a little each time and maybe that'll break his hold on this place.” 

Scott nodded and Malia stripped of her flannel shirt and tied it around her waist, pulling in tight. 

“Well, right now, it's the only plan we've got. So who's going next?”


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

No sooner had he closed his bedroom door behind him, Scott emerged unsteadily onto a bridge coated in ice, with no recollection of how he came to be there. 

He regained his footing on the slick wooden planks of the bridge and studied his surroundings. He rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the darkness. The bridge was illuminated only by the light of the moon filtering through the trees. 

Despite his reflexes, he skidded twice as he stepped gingerly across the bridge to peer over the edge but found only rocks and rushing water beneath him. He let out a breath that fogged in the cold air and shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. 

It was in that moment that he took stock of his clothes. A tattered Mets hoodie from Stiles, pajama bottoms and bare feet. He shot a rueful glance at the full moon and groaned. Clearly he'd shifted in his sleep. 

He prayed silently that he hadn't strayed too far from the road and turned towards the woods, contemplating the inevitability that he'd be spending the rest of the early morning tramping through the trees until he found the path. 

Only then did a memory seem to creep into his mind and he squeezed his eyes shut trying to recall the rest. He remembered stalking through the woods, cringing as Theo dropped a single white lily into the rushing water in memory of his sister, or so he had thought at the time. This was the bridge where they had found her, once Theo had ripped out her heart. 

Scott's stomach churned. 

Suddenly the gush of water seemed too loud. It seemed to thunder in his ears. Above the noise he thought he could hear someone calling his name. Faint at first, but louder and more insistent as he turned around and stepped cautiously back onto the bridge. 

“Scott,” the voice called weakly, “Scott, help me. Please, Scott.” 

Scott crept closer to the edge again. He could barely hear her over the rush of water in his head and the pounding of his own heart. 

“Allison?” 

As he placed his hands on the railing the voice grew to a scream above the roar of the river. 

“Scott, please! Don't let me die. Please, don't let me die again!” 

Scott thought he might be sick as he shoved his body half way over the rail and scanned the river with scarlet eyes. He could hear her begging but he couldn't see her. He slid frantically to the other side of the bridge but she wasn't in the frigid water beneath him and her voice was beginning to fade as Scott began to shout her name into the glacial night air. 

The cold was seeping into his lungs as he slipped onto the ground and he was vaguely aware that tears had begun to drip down his cheeks into his lap. 

“Allison,” he whispered quietly as the river faded into a gentle hush. “I'm sorry.” 

He wasn't sure how long he sat there absorbing ice into his bones but his fingers were almost blue by the time he finally pulled himself to his feet. With his feet frozen to the core he could barely walk and he tripped pathetically across the bridge, heaving shallow breaths into his burning lungs to try and steady himself. 

His tears had turned to icicles on his cheeks that glued his eyes closed. He rubbed at them with his sleeve. 

“Just open your eyes, Scott. You have to open your eyes. You have to get up. You have to heal,” he rasped to himself. 

He reached out for the rail again but it slipped from his fingertips, or perhaps he slipped away from the rail, he wasn't sure in the darkness. He reached out again but this time his aching hands met something smooth and solid. 

His vision was blurred by melting ice as it dripped down his forehead but he could see more clearly now as he edged towards a wall of mirrored glass that stretched higher than he could even see. With a shaking hand he skimmed the surface of the mirror and marvelled as it rippled beneath his fingers like water. 

Scott bent closer and pressed his palm to the spot he had just marked and watched as his reflection did the same. He closed his eyes and tried to shift but when he opened them again they only flickered red before fading like a worn out bulb. 

“You're not even a real Alpha. How could you have possibly saved her?” he admitted weakly to the Scott staring back at him. He was so tired he didn't notice that his reflections mouth never moved. Not, at least, until it spoke back. 

“You'll never be a True Alpha until you set free the monster within,” it taunted him. 

Scott could only laugh humourlessly. He always thought Stiles would be the first one to go completely mad. Now he knew he was only one panic attack and a complete breakdown away from a stint in Eichen House. He wondered how long they kept patients that thought they're reflections asked them questions. Probably not as long as they kept the ones that answered back. 

“I'm a werewolf, not a monster. I'm still human.” 

The mirror laughed. 

“You'll never be human again, Scott,” his reflection snarled and lunged forwards with dripping fangs and eyes blazing with fire. 

Scott leaped back but he wasn't quick enough. The wolf buried its claws in his chest and dragged him forwards. The mirror's surface broke like a frozen lake and Scott gasped as water flooded his lungs like knives tearing at his insides. He struggle desperately, his numb fingers clutching at the arms pulling him deeper into the water but he wasn't strong enough. He felt sluggish and heavy like his own body was weighing him down. The last thing he saw as the darkness began to close in was his own crimson eyes glaring back at him. 

Scott scrambled over the threshold of his bedroom door with river water still expelling itself from his lungs. He fell to his knees on the white tiles and coughed until his throat burned and there was nothing left to choke out. 

“Oh my god, Scott!” 

Malia fell heavily at his side and untied her shirt from her waist, tucking it securely around his shoulders. Theo did the same with his jacket and pressed a hand to Scott's arm. 

“Shit, he's freezing. Malia, hold him; he needs body heat,” Theo instructed, pushing Scott onto his back. Malia hauled him up to her chest and wrapped her arms around his waist as Scott gasped into her neck. She shivered as icy water dripped from his hair onto her shoulder and trickled down her arm. Theo grabbed hold of Scott's limp arm and tugged it out of Malia's embrace. “I'm going to take the pain okay, Scott? Come on, you gotta start healing so you can kick my ass, okay?” 

Theo grimaced as Scott slackened against Malia's chest and thick spidery black veins crept up his forearm. 

“Careful,” Malia hissed as Theo's breathing became heavy. 

He winced once more before dropping Scott's arm and muttering, “I'm fine.” 

Malia slipped away from Scott slightly so that she could see his face. Meanwhile Lydia, Stiles and Jackson edged closer until they all sat in a circle around their Alpha and held him up with comforting hands. 

“Scott, what happened?” Malia asked gently as Scott's eyes fluttered open and his gaze flicked between each of them. His eyes widened as if he'd only just realised he wasn't drowning any more.

“I didn't save her,” Scott whispered to himself before he seemed to come back to his senses. His eyes flashed red for a moment and colour began to rush back into his skin. 

“He's healing,” Stiles commented with a relieved exhale and Lydia smiled minutely. 

Scott pushed himself up until he was fully seated on his own and dragged a hand over his face tiredly. 

“I failed. I'm sorry.” His features fell into a forlorn frown. “I couldn't pull myself out of it like you did,” he admitted, looking at Stiles with something that looked like hopeless admiration. 

“Don't worry about it. We'll try again,” Stiles shot back, waving a hand like they weren't talking about the difference between life and death. “We'll figure it out,” he conclude and lowered his gaze to Lydia as he said, “we always figure it out.”


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

 

“Do you think they're okay? They've been gone longer than the others,” Lydia asked worriedly as Stiles settled himself down beside her on the Nemeton. He groaned slightly as his tired muscles hit the solid wood.

 

“C'mon, it's Jackson and Theo. They'll be fine,” he assured her, although he wasn't completely convinced that it was true. They sat in silence for awhile and watched Malia as she fussed over Scott. He growled and told her for the tenth time that he really was 'okay.' She pressed her palm to his forehead regardless.

 

“Are you still angry with me?” Stiles murmured cautiously after a while. Lydia wasn't exactly surprised. She already knew he felt guilty. It was sitting like a weight in the pit of her stomach.

 

“You already know the answer,” she said tiredly. She was torn between fury and resentment when she looked at him but she leant back heavily against his shoulder anyway and cursed herself for smiling when she felt him press a kiss into her hair.

 

“Too tired to be angry?” he guessed and Lydia nodded silently. “I feel like a jackass if that helps?” Lydia pressed her lips together to hide a smirk. “You know after what happened with... well, you know -” He gave her a pointed look and gestured to the tree stump beneath them - “I said I'd never let anything get inside my head again like that and yet there I was, walking into heavy fire. I was so sure it was the right thing to do. Even Scott thought it was the only plan we had.” He shook his head.

 

Lydia sighed and admitted to herself that she just didn't have the energy to be furious any more.

 

“The Anuk-Ite got to all of us,” she said assuage his feelings. “I don't know if it genuinely didn't see all of this coming or if it thought maybe I'd kill everyone. Maybe I have; we have no idea what's going on outside of this place.”

 

He didn't know what to say to her. She was an enigma he didn't think he'd ever really understand. Even now, connected in the way they were, she was a complex web of infinite reactions and decisions. He wasn't sure he'd ever really understand what she was feeling, even if he could feel it for himself.

 

Maybe that was why he was surprised when she sighed heavily and said, “It doesn't feel how I thought it would. I thought it would be more...” she struggled for the right word, “intense.”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles replied simple.

 

“It sounds crazy,” Lydia continued, “and obviously scientifically unfeasible but I suppose I thought I might be able to read your mind or see what you were doing when I'm not there. But really I feel like I'm still me... only more emotional. Which is actually terrifying because I'm, you know, not.”

 

She took a breath like she might speak again but she didn't.

 

Stiles slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

 

“You are, you've just learnt not to be. And that's okay -” he gave her a squeeze - “because I need you to cry more so I don't look so bad doing it all the time.”

 

Lydia let out a laugh in a huff and rolled her eyes. It didn't matter that he couldn't see it, she knew he could feel it.

 

“You don't cry all the time,” she insisted.

 

She wasn't sure if he actually laughed at that or if she could only feel it in his soul. It was a hum that surged around her body in a way she'd never experience before. It was a wave of pure light, tickling at her nerves. She felt her lips pull unconscious at the corners.

 

Stiles shifted beneath her.

 

“Lydia, I cried when you left DC. I cried every time you nearly died or found a new boyfriend. Actually, I think that's pretty normal. Jesus, I nearly cried when we had sex last night and I think that's about as embarrassing as it gets.”

 

She knew he was trying to make her smile again but she couldn't. She dropped her hand into Stiles lap and slipped her fingers through his, squeezing his hand until her knuckles turned white.

 

“I nearly cried too,” she admitted quietly. She shot a glance at the Scott and Malia but they were either too busy waiting anxiously for Jackson and Theo to listen or they were just being polite.

 

“Now that really is embarrassing,” Stiles teased.

 

He yelped when Lydia's elbow connected with his ribs.

 

“I'm trying to tell you I love you,” Lydia snapped but Stiles could feel her laughter against his chest.

 

He opened his mouth to tell her he loved her too, _so much,_ but he was interrupted by Lydia scrambling to her feet as Jackson and Theo burst noisily onto the pristine white tiles. Theo crouched on his hands and knees as he caught his breath but seemed to be otherwise unharmed. Jackson however, was shaking violently and studying them all hurriedly like they might disappear at any moment. 

 

Scott inspected them both with wide eyes before he helped Malia to her feet. She dusted off her legs and folded her arms, un-phased by the dramatic entrance in front of her.

 

“Everyone alright?” Scott asked cautiously as Theo straightened and stretched.

 

He shook his head in the hopes that it might banish the image of his bloody, beating heart as his sister ripped it from his body.

 

Meanwhile Lydia placed a gentle hand on Jackson's elbow and flinched as he swatted her away.

 

“I'm fine,” he spat and ran a hand through his hair roughly.

 

Lydia watched Malia as she eyed Theo apprehensively. Eventually she frowned and turned back to Lydia.

 

“We're not seriously going in there next, are we?”

 

Lydia shrugged and shot Stiles a nervous glance.

 

“I'm not sure we have a choice,” she confirmed ominously. She slid her fingers through Stiles' and felt him relax despite the anxious way his free hand was tapping against his thigh.

 

Something felt wrong to Lydia but she couldn't put her finger on it. It was like an uneasy twist in her stomach paired with a buzzing that reminded her strangely of bees in a honeycomb. She imagined thousands of tiny insects working together to build a bigger picture. The only problem was she just couldn't see it yet. It took her a moment to figure it out but then it hit her. She wasn't the one feeling anxious – Stiles was.

 

She turned around to find him standing almost completely still, his eyes flitting back and forth between the pack and the Nemeton.

 

“Stiles?” Lydia squeezed his hand in her own again.

 

“What did you guys see?” Stiles asked suddenly. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could see Stiles, kneeling on his bedroom floor with furrowed brows and a dry wipe pen shoved under his nose. She'd come to know it as an expression he used when he 'cracked the case wide open.'

 

He let go of Lydia's hand a took a step towards Jackson.

 

“Did it talk to you?”

 

Theo exchanged a cautious look with Jackson and Jackson frowned in return.

 

“Did what talk to us? The Anuk-Ite?”

 

Stiles only nodded. Theo and Jackson both shook their heads slowly and Lydia felt Stiles' shiver ripple up her arm.

 

“It's me,” Stiles whispered quietly as if he couldn't believe what he was saying.

 

He swallowed thickly before raising his eyes to hold Lydia's gaze. Slowly, the bigger picture began to come into focus and Lydia rolled her lips together uneasily.

 

“The Anuk-Ite needed to break the pack apart. Stiles is your best friend, Scott. He's Malia's anchor. He's my -” she choked a little - “He's only here because we couldn't go to war without him. The trick isn't behind those doors, it's in here. We're all part of an illusion and it's all happening inside of Stiles' head.”

 

 


End file.
